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Back in January 2020, singer-songwriter Ryan Tedder was jogging through the flats of West Hollywood while talking to his friend and investment partner Abe Burns when they struck upon an idea.
“What if you could take tranches of your favorite songs and securitize them, go through the [U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC)], invest in your favorite songs and trade them on the public market?” he recalls telling Burns. “Why can’t fans do this?”
The OneRepublic frontman and prolific songwriter behind megahits like Beyoncé’s “Halo,” Adele’s “Rumour Has It” and Leona Lewis’ “Bleeding Love” is less well known for his investing acumen. But over the last decade or so, Tedder has proved to be a successful venture capital and commercial real estate investor who owns stakes in lucrative properties like the sites of a 24-hour Walgreens on the Las Vegas strip and American Airlines’ call center headquarters in Fort Worth, Texas. “That’s all well and good,” Tedder says, but to be able to share in some of the greatest pop songs — that he didn’t write himself? That would be thrilling.
Music lovers like Tedder will soon be able to do just that. Beginning Sept. 12, music fans and everyday investors can reserve stakes in the royalty streams of more than 100 songs — written by Tedder; Diplo and the trio he co-founded, Major Lazer; and rock band American Authors — through a new music investing platform, JKBX (pronounced “jukebox”). This initial batch includes songs performed by Beyoncé, Adele, Taylor Swift, Colbie Caillat and Ed Sheeran and features by Justin Bieber, Travis Scott, Ellie Goulding, Jonas Brothers, MØ and Trippie Redd.
Like dividend-paying stocks, royalty shares acquired on JKBX’s platform will give investors the right to a slice of the income a specific song generates. The types of royalty streams offered — for example, publishing, recording and whether there are geographic boundaries attached — will vary by song and be disclosed in each offering.
Founded by Sam Hendel and John Chapman of venture capital and private equity firm Dundee Partners, JKBX aims to become the Fidelity of music investment — a platform where fans can buy, trade and sell royalty shares of songs with strong, sustained records of income. The company says all of the tracks offered will have been released over 18 months ago, with most of them older than 10 years. They include Major Lazer’s perennially streamed hit “Lean On” (it has over 1.8 billion streams on Spotify) and American Authors’ “Best Day of My Life,” a synch sensation that has been used in ads for Best Western Hotels, Ford and Jeep.
Early adopters won’t initially have to put any money down, and the reservations will be nonbinding while JKBX awaits the final approval from the SEC to make public offerings available to investors. In February, the company announced that it had partnered with GTS Securities, one of the largest Designated Market Makers on the New York Stock Exchange, to mitigate volatility and promote liquidity and competition on a secondary trading market for JKBX’s royalty shares.
JKBX has yet to choose a broker dealer or alternative trading system — it is in talks with several — and until that happens, there is no secondary market where investors can sell or trade their royalty shares.
The company says it will not set a royalty share’s initial price or determine how many shares will be made available; a separate issuer will do that. The type of Regulation A offering JKBX is attempting to provide can sell up to $75 million worth of shares in a 12-month period, which it expects to do.
Because it’s still seeking SEC qualification for its first batch of offerings, JKBX was careful to state in interviews with Billboard that it’s not offering or soliciting investors in securities and that any future offerings will provide investors with all the normal disclosures, including how much revenue a song has generated over the past three years and ongoing audited financials.
Tedder and other creators with songs on the platform won’t be directly involved in the investment process — at least for now. JKBX’s deals are with labels, music publishers and catalog funds that own the copyrights. But the company says writers with songs on the platform will get a cut of trades if they are part of its Creator Program, which includes a pool of money set aside for them.
Ryan Tedder of OneRepublic performs onstage during the Lollapalooza Paris Festival – Day Three on July 23, 2023 in Paris, France.
Sadaka Edmond/SIPA/AP Images
If JKBX clears these hurdles and its business strategy takes flight, rights holders, artists, JKBX and individual investors stand to profit from a new, potentially transformative income stream generated by the masses betting on the continued earning power of songs — an asset class previously restricted to institutional investors, private equity and music publishers. Hendel estimates the total addressable market for JKBX could reach billions of dollars based on the music industry’s growth trajectory and the 60 million individual investment accounts that Americans hold.
In the meantime, sources say the company has taken on a top-shelf collection of music company investors such as Spotify, Live Nation, YouTube, Red Light Management and Bertelsmann Digital Media. Financial backers include Mike Novogratz’s Galaxy Digital, Valor Equity Partners, and Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss, sources say. According to a recent SEC filing, JKBX raised $16 million from investors in January alone.
“I see it as a potential game-changer in the music rights world,” says Round Hill CEO Josh Gruss (who is not an investor).
JKBX is not the first company to test these waters. Masterworks and AcreTrader both launched in 2018 as marketplaces where the average person could invest in top-end commodities by purchasing fractional shares of securitized fine art or farmland to earn returns. In music, Royalty Exchange, SongVest and Royal have all been doing something similar for years, but industry insiders and artists say that JKBX’s backers, song catalog and SEC validation give it a serious leg up.
Its launch also comes at a time when fans wield more power than ever to send old songs viral again, by using snippets of them in TikTok videos, for example, and may therefore have more interest in owning a share of these songs’ earnings than they did in the past.
Sources say JKBX has secured the rights to hundreds of hit songs worth over $4 billion, substantially more than prior companies in this space, and is in talks with several major rights holders, including Hipgnosis, BMG and at least one of the majors.
JKBX says it is not working directly with songwriters because it’s currently focused on securing deals that can deliver a diverse list of assets up front, though it is open to working with artist-owned catalogs in the future. Instead, it divides music assets into royalty shares and submits those shares to the SEC for qualification as Regulation A offerings. Every time an investor buys, trades or sells shares on its platform, JKBX earns a commission.
While the artist is not directly involved in the offering or investment, JKBX CEO Scott Cohen says the company actively tries to make original recording artists aware of its listings and get the artists’ blessing for songs that appear on the platform.
DJ-producer Diplo, who partnered with Royal in March 2022 to sell tokens linked to the streaming revenue of his song “Don’t Forget My Love,” says JKBX’s “business-minded” leaders and their embrace of conventional market rules — only SEC-registered and -regulated investments will be offered — convinced him the platform stands the best chance of succeeding.
“This has major artists,” he says. “It has the best chance of winning because there is real cash flow in music. There is already a money chain — and it is really SEC-regulated.” (JKBX currently is not involved with blockchain or non-fungible tokens — technologies other startups in this space have used.)
Ape Drums, Diplo and DJ Walshy Fire of Major Lazer attend Preakness 146 hosted by 1/ST at Pimlico Race Course on May 15, 2021 in Baltimore, Maryland.
Paul Morigi/Getty Images
Tedder says that when Chapman and JKBX approached him with their pitch, “I think they got maybe two or three sentences in before I said, ‘Hold on a minute. You’re pitching me on the exact same idea that I had.’ ” He says he also told them, “ ‘The devil’s in the execution and your partners — getting [Universal Music Group (UMG) chairman/CEO] Lucian Grainge, getting giant funds like Hipgnosis. Whoever gets the largest collection of catalogs first, gets the signoff from the SEC first, jumps through all the hoops first is the winner.’ And they’re like, ‘Yeah, that’s us.’ ”
An early example of the financialization of music assets came in 1997, when David Bowie partnered with the Prudential Insurance Company and attorney David Pullman to raise $55 million through the sale of what became known as Bowie Bonds. It was the first example of an artist getting investors to bet on the income a back catalog would generate.
“This is a natural progression,” Pullman, chairman/CEO of The Pullman Group, wrote in an email. “The interest in investing has continued since these first … landmark deals where you have seen the biggest, savviest investors enter the market to recognize this asset class of music that keeps growing. It’s only natural [that] investors and fans would want to invest in their favorite songs. Song by song gives more choice.”
JKBX’s idea to allow investors to create customized portfolios of songs follows the recent launch of several exchange-traded funds, including David Schulhof’s MUSQ, where investors buy shares to gain exposure to 48 different music companies, including Warner Music Group (WMG), Spotify and Live Nation, and TUNE, a fund providing exposure to 50 music and digital companies, including UMG, Netflix and The Walt Disney Company.
“As long as the deals and investors are selective,” Pullman wrote, royalty streams “can be a sound investment.”
The JKBX interface through which investors can buy stakes in song royalty streams.
Courtesy of Jukebox
One key difference between owning stock in publicly traded companies and royalty shares in music assets is that the latter doesn’t give the investor any right to say how a song is marketed or promoted.
“You’re basically buying an income stream. You have no control over or input into how the song is used,” says Don Passman, renowned copyright expert, lawyer for Taylor Swift and author of the music industry handbook All You Need To Know About the Music Business. “The prices will be higher [than more conventional investments],” he explains, “because of two things: the sexiness of it and being able to buy it in little bitty pieces. It’s a little like fantasy sports, except with real money.”
Hendel and Cohen like the fantasy sports comparison for a couple of reasons: Fans who invest in sports tend to spend more money overall on merchandise and experiences linked to games, and labels are eagerly searching for ways to find and reach their artists’ superfans.
“We view this as a way to connect people more deeply to their favorite artists and elevate the catalog,” says Hendel. JKBX’s market research tells it superfans are one of their three target audiences. “A lot of our partners are looking at this not as a way to make money — the real thing is fan engagement.”
Cohen acknowledges that selling the platform’s potential to investors comes with a substantial learning curve, but he has successfully schooled the industry on similarly challenging concepts. As co-founder of groundbreaking digital music distributor The Orchard, he helped administer the first music downloads to mobile phones when consumers were still buying CDs.
“Trying to explain to people that they would be not only consuming music on their mobile device, they would be creating and engaging — just impossible,” Cohen says. “They’d go, ‘You want to download music? Why? I have a six-CD changer in my car.’ ”
Between 1995 and 2003, The Orchard racked up $3 million in debt. “We owed everybody money,” says Cohen. “We owed every artist money, our employees, the electric bill, the rent. I had lost all of my possessions.” And the IRS was hounding the company. At one point in the early 2000s, he recalls living out of The Orchard’s Lower East Side office subsisting on a diet of beans and rice cooked on a hot plate in the pantry. “I discovered there is a level of poverty; that zero, it turns out, is not the bottom,” he says. “It goes much deeper.” Cohen adds, “It was really dark times, but I was super confident in this space.”
Scott Cohen, JKBX CEO
Susanna Cappellaro
When Apple’s iTunes Store launched in 2003, The Orchard owned roughly one-third of the digital rights to all of the songs in it. The first check the company received exceeded its total 2002 revenue. The next month, that figure doubled, Cohen says. “It was confirmation of eight years of incredible struggle.”
The Orchard paid off all of its debts a short time later thanks to a several-million-dollar infusion from media investor Daniel Stein, who Cohen says gave him sage advice: “He said, ‘You made it this far, but now you’re going to have competition. Everyone is going to pour into this space, and all that hard work to get into the lead will evaporate overnight because new people will come in fully capitalized without any debt and they’ll eat your lunch.”
This time around, Cohen is the new guy that Stein warned him about, and he claims that puts JKBX at an advantage. “With The Orchard, we were first. With JKBX we are — whatever. Twentieth,” he says. “You enter the space without all the baggage of the past, you learn from everyone else, you’re fully capitalized and, wow, you can do a lot of damage.”
However, Cohen will have to manage investors’ expectations for returns, which will be highly dependent on how quickly JKBX can achieve scale.
Company representatives decline to reveal how many customers it needs to break even, but Cohen, who runs JKBX’s 35-person team remotely from his London home, reiterates that he’s not concerned about that number. “We’ve modeled the company around a very modest growth curve — like ridiculously small numbers of people. We have enough runway to last us a very, very long time without me having to lose all my possessions and become homeless again.
“When I look at the next year to 18 months, it’s a long, slow, educational curve where we just march forward month after month, quarter after quarter on a very clear path of what we want to do and not get stressed that every rights holder, artist and consumer isn’t on board on day one,” he continues. “It is going to take a moment for this to catch on, and as long as we are seeing the growth, we feel we are in the right place.”
Cohen has a preternatural confidence and comfort in technology’s ability to improve the human experience. In addition to founding The Orchard and later helping WMG “see over the horizon” as its chief innovation officer, he co-founded wearable technology company CyborgNest in 2017 and became one of its test subjects, implanting a device called NorthSense into his chest that vibrated when he faced magnetic north.
“We only know what we know because of the sensory information that comes into our brains,” he says. “What if we give [the brain] a new signal? How would your brain interpret it? The thought was that it would make me more human, not less.”
Cohen attempted to implant three different devices, but his body ultimately rejected all of them. While he hopes to resume these explorations, he says the opportunity to run JKBX was irresistible, and he doesn’t need a wearable gadget to navigate the royalty share business: “We don’t have a road map, but we have a compass, and that’s all that matters. We are doing something new, and I know where we’re headed.”
It is too soon to project what JKBX investors can expect in terms of return on their investment, but two sources estimate royalty shares will provide a base rate of return of around 3%. By comparison, the S&P 500 Index is up about 14% so far this year, and the yield on the ultra-safe 10-year U.S. Treasury notes are at 15-year highs of 4.35% (as of Aug. 21). While JKBX’s royalty shares are a fledgling asset class compared with both of those investments, it is worth noting that on average, the stock price for companies that filed initial public offerings in 2022 rose by an average of 10%, and Royalty Exchange, which launched over a decade ago, now says it provides annual returns to investors of 13.3% a year.
Hipgnosis Songs Fund, a pioneer in providing investors exposure to music royalties through its publicly listed trust, said in July that its investors have earned 27.9 cents per share of dividends since its July 2018 IPO — a 69% net asset value return to shareholders.
Many factors affect investor returns, including market conditions, initial price, demand on a secondary market, how long an investor holds an asset and when the investor buys it. JKBX thinks this will appeal to superfans, people looking to diversify their portfolios, and crypto and Web3-savvy investors.
JKBX and financial experts argue that the rules of efficient markets incentivize issuers to price royalty shares competitively in order to create demand and foster the success of the platform.
When JKBX executives pitch rights holders and artists, they highlight older songs that achieved fresh success from viral moments on TikTok and Spotify — songs like Miguel’s 2010 hit “Sure Thing.” JKBX presents a new way to cash in on catalog-caliber songs and could help identify fans who share and promote them most, JKBX executives say. If users agree to it, JKBX sees a future where artists and labels could directly connect with superfans on the platform, potentially driving future social media revivals.
In the meantime, publicly traded music trusts like Hipgnosis, whose stock is trading at a discount, and labels, which are under investor pressure for the high prices they paid to acquire catalogs, can use JKBX “as an outlet to raise liquidity to justify their acquisitions and a higher share price to the public,” Pullman says.
As for the average investor, Passman is skeptical that they will earn high returns from JKBX, given the price record labels and catalog funds have had to pay to acquire hit song catalogs in recent years.
“It is unlikely that consumers will be able to get [royalty shares] at an initial price that would have any kind of decent return just because the multiples will be high and because there is a sexy value to owning a piece of your favorite artist’s song,” Passman says, cautioning that returns will be song-specific and lesser-known songs might present better returns.
Larry Miller, director of New York University’s Music Business Program at the Steinhardt School, says that JKBX’s success hinges on “the belief that [royalty shares] will be worth more in the future than they are worth today, and having in place a transparent, fast and highly liquid secondary market is essential in having this be more than an interesting, fun and curious hobby for fans.”
If JKBX can get that in place, Miller says, “there is a great deal of potential impact here.”
This story will appear in the Aug. 26, 2023, issue of Billboard.
Five years ago, Lil Wayne sat down in his Miami recording studio and spoke in depth with Billboard for the first time in almost a decade. The trailblazing rapper and entrepreneur stood at a crossroads: On the verge of releasing what he had declared would be his final album, Tha Carter V, he had finally settled the three-year lawsuit against his former label Cash Money that had delayed the project’s release and just been awarded sole ownership of the Young Money imprint he had launched in 2003.
So as Aug. 11 — the 50th anniversary of hip-hop — fast approaches alongside Young Money’s own 20th birthday, it’s fitting to be sitting down with Lil Wayne once again. One of the genre’s most innovative and still influential artists, the 40-year-old Louisianian occupies a unique vantage point, forged during a now nearly 30-year journey that began in 1997 with the New Orleans group Hot Boys and soon grew into a multimillion-selling solo career. And that’s not counting the still-growing list of hit collaborations he’s had with a diverse array of fellow hip-hop and R&B artists — including Drake, Nicki Minaj, Future, 2 Chainz, Chris Brown, Mary J. Blige and Lil Baby — as well as other intrepid pairings with artists up and down the genre aisles: Madonna, Ariana Grande, Justin Bieber, Imagine Dragons, Fall Out Boy, Romeo Santos and Shakira, among others. In the course of hip-hop’s own evolution, Wayne’s career is a bridge between then and now, between the genre’s storied, hard-won past and its next-gen, global future.
Young Money Records executive vp/GM Karen Civil, who began running Wayne’s label and several additional portfolios — including his rum brand, Bumbu, and his underwear line, Ethika — in March, says that she also looks at him “as a tree, a foundation. Through the years, we’ve seen different branches blossom, from Nicki and Drake to his businesses, including Young Money, and his relationship with [label president] Mack Maine. A lot of people know Drake and Wayne. But he’s set up so many other people — Tyga is one — who have given him his flowers, like, ‘You’re the reason I rap.’ Those moments mean a lot because he loves to see people around him win.”
Producer-rapper Swizz Beatz has personally witnessed Wayne’s evolution from the time when, as he recalls, they were both “the youngest ones” on the Cash Money and Ruff Ryders tour in 2000. “I knew he was special then, and he’s definitely special now,” continues Swizz, who has collaborated with Wayne for more than 20 years. “It takes a special eye and ear to see a Drake before he’s Drake or a Nicki before she’s Nicki … or the many other artists he’s been involved with who are some of the biggest artists alongside himself to date. That comes from his investment of time, his eye, energy and business sense. He’s responsible for this generation of music.”
Before he could provide a foundation for others, Wayne had to build his own. Over his career, he’s notched five No. 1 albums on the Billboard 200 and 12 top 10s. Tha Carter III, released in 2008, spent three weeks at No. 1 — making it the Wayne album with the most weeks at that perch — and has racked up 221 weeks total on the chart, the most of any of his releases; in September 2022, the RIAA recertified it at eight times platinum.
On the Billboard Hot 100, the five-time Grammy winner has claimed a total of 25 top 10s — including gems “A Milli”; “She Will,” featuring Drake; and “6 Foot 7 Foot,” featuring Cory Gunz — and three No. 1s: “Lollipop,” featuring Static Major (Wayne’s first RIAA diamond track, certified in December); Jay Sean’s “Down,” featuring Wayne; and DJ Khaled’s star-studded “I’m the One,” which, along with Wayne’s guest spot, also features Justin Bieber, Quavo and Chance the Rapper. With 185 total Hot 100 entries — up from 138 just five years ago — Wayne has the fourth-most songs on the chart ever behind Drake, Taylor Swift and the Glee cast.
“Wayne is definitely somebody who continues to create his own blueprint from rap to rock,” says Civil. “I just love the fact that he doesn’t put himself in one category. He continues to reinvent himself and do new things — like becoming a professional skateboarder at 40. He doesn’t put an age limit on things. He doesn’t allow a title, a job or one career set to define him. Seeing the plethora of different people, from [Lil Uzi Vert] to YoungBoy [Never Broke Again] to others who are creating their own genres and sounds, is a testament to Wayne creating that lane.”
Balenciaga T-shirt and jacket, Peter Marco jewelry, Louis Vuitton eyewear.
Ramona Rosales
And it certainly no longer looks like the ever-busy multihyphenate — who has released an album and two mixtapes since Tha Carter V — will stop recording any time soon; “retirement be damned” seems to now be his motto. According to Civil, Wayne has “quite a few singles” in the pipeline as both lead and featured artist. He and 2 Chainz are currently collaborating on ColleGrove II, the sequel to their 2016 collaboration. Though no release date has been set, Tha Carter VI is also in the works. Wayne recently wrapped 30 dates on his Welcome to Tha Carter Tour, where Drake, Chance the Rapper, Cam’ron and 2 Chainz made special appearances.
And he was in his element opening the ESPY Awards in July with an apropos performance of his 2008 hit “A Milli.” “He was being a true artist, rearranging the words to the song to make sure that it was curated to the event,” Swizz Beatz notes. “I thought that was genius.”
Meanwhile, Wayne continues to develop hip-hop’s next generation of talent, working with Civil and Maine to build his Young Money roster, which includes Allan Cubas, Drizzy P, Euro, Jay Jones, Lil Twist, Mellow Rackz and Yaj Kader.
“Wayne is the ultimate outlier. There was nobody in the history of the genre who sounded like him, looked like him, or released music like him. Everybody caught his wave and just tried to hang on for dear life,” says Republic Records founder and COO Avery Lipman (Young Money is distributed through Republic/Universal Music Group.) “It goes without saying he’s one of the greatest artists of all time, but he’s also one of the most visionary businessmen this industry has ever seen.”
It’s a humble, humorous, polite (“thank you, Miss Gail”), self-deprecating and brief, to-the-point Lil Wayne who sits down once again today with Billboard — this time in West Hollywood — to reflect on his legacy and hip-hop’s future against the backdrop of the genre’s 50th anniversary. With a disarming and sly, diamond-studded grin, Wayne underscores his deep-rooted love of hip-hop. “In my mind, every single time I say the word ‘work,’ I ask God to forgive me,” he says. “Cuz I know this has never been a job. It’s just a dream come true.”
Looking back on your career thus far, what does this momentous anniversary mean to you — and to hip-hop itself — since naysayers initially dismissed the fledgling genre as a fad?
I think it probably means more to me than I even know, because I am still in it, a deep part of it, and I’m still learning every day. Hip-hop will never be over. But I also think that maybe down the line, I’ll be able to answer that question better because I don’t think I know how much it means to me yet — because it means that much.
You signed with Cash Money before you were even a teen. Did you know that early that you could build a career as a rap artist?
I’ve been rapping since I was 7, actually. And I signed my deal when I was 11. I didn’t think about nothing else other than “We about to be the biggest everything.” (Laughs.) Like, I’m about to be this … I’m about to date her. I’m about to do … (Laughs again.) I was a kid, you know? It was like, what are you going [to want] for Christmas? As far as unforgettable moments go [back then], I would say that was probably my first time grabbing a mic as a kid at a block party, breaking my fear and rapping stuff that I had rapped in the mirror for, like, thousands of hours the night before.
Ethika T-shirt; Balenciaga jacket, pants and shoes; Peter Marco jewelry; Emotionally Unavailable hat.
Ramona Rosales
So given your early vantage point, what are the biggest changes you’ve seen happen in hip-hop?
Right now is the time where I see the most change in our genre, because back then, I think it was just progress more than change; progression from what was already set before us and also us honoring what was set before us. But now it’s not that no one’s honoring what was before them — it’s just that the world has changed thanks to social media. There was no such thing as social media when I started doing this. But social media has changed the genre and opened doors. That’s definitely what helped contribute to its going global. [Social media] is good and bad.
Want to give examples of the good and the bad?
No. (Laughs.)
What has been the hardest part of your journey?
The hardest part for me is not being able to do [my music], for whatever reason. Not being able to record. Not being able to tour or do a show. That’s always the hardest part.
What one career lesson have you carried along since the beginning?
Never, never stop learning. That’s how you humble yourself. Humility goes a long way and it’ll keep you learning. I just try to get better and better and better.
Did you ever subscribe to the notion that hip-hop is only a young man’s game?
No, never. Because when I was growing up, all the rappers were way older than me. So I don’t know what that notion or narrative was, because it was never a young man’s game to me. I’ve always felt I had to fight my way in when I was a young man.
You’ve mapped a blueprint in terms of musical innovation and entrepreneurial pursuits like your Trukfit fashion line, the Young Money APAA Sports agency, the cannabis brand GKUA Ultra Premium and other business ventures. How do you perceive the role you’ve played in that aspect of rap’s evolution?
Expanding yourself and becoming a brand, getting involved in other businesses … the small part that I’ve played is probably just setting an example for those watching me and those coming after me. And with that said, I got that from watching Jay-Z, Reverend Run and Russ [Simmons] move. How they never stopped and just evolved, [especially] the way Jay has evolved. (Laughs.) I’m trying to follow stuff like that. And hopefully those coming up under me will follow my footsteps.
Do you have a wish list of other business opportunities you’d like to pursue?
Oh, no. I don’t have a list. You limit yourself when you put a list together. (Laughs.) But I can guarantee there has to be a feeling that makes me go forward with any [business] decision that I make. So therefore I know that it is organic.
You underscored your electric stage presence with 2010’s Rebirth, your creative leap into rock after ventures into blending rap with pop and singing. What influence has that had on next-gen artists with similar vibes, like Lil Uzi Vert, Travis Scott, Young Thug and Trippie Redd?
Sometimes people ask me how I feel about everybody looking like me, everybody getting tattoos, etc. That’s like seeing your kid come out of the room and looking just like you; it feels amazing. So the visible influence is kind of obvious because I know for a fact I didn’t get this look from anyone. There was no one that inspired this look. I just ran into looking like this. (Laughs.) But other than that, I hope that my work ethic [is influential as well].
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How would you describe your work ethic? You seem like a 24/7 studio guy.
Exactly. So when other artists get around me, you know, they can smell that. It is impossible for them not to. And whenever they leave, they leave with something, as they remember that smell. And hopefully it does something for them.
So is your phone ringing off the hook with people asking you for advice?
No, not advice, not at all. That’s because they don’t have my number. (Laughs.) I have three sons and a beautiful daughter who get the advice.
On Billboard’s recent GOAT list of hip-hop’s top 50 artists, you landed at No. 7, between The Notorious B.I.G. at No. 6 and Drake at No. 8. What did you think of your placement?
That’s awesome. You would be happy to be anywhere on that list.
So which rappers would be in the top five of your own GOAT list?
There’s no specific order, but it’s simple. For me, it’s always been Missy Elliott, Jay-Z, UGK, Goodie Mob and Biggie.
Why those five? What’s the throughline for you in terms of their place in the genre’s evolution?
It’s because I organically grew up on [them]. You know, when you’re asked, “How’d you start listening?,” there’s a story for everybody … like, someone I know told me to start listening or whatever. But like I said, every decision I make is organic.
What does it take to break new hip-hop artists today?
Today, you have to know social media. If you don’t, you have to have a team that does. That said, the main thing today is what it has been yesterday and the day before yesterday: You just have to have real talent. Real, everlasting and undeniable talent. That’s how you still break an artist. Once you find that in an artist, then use and highlight that as much as you can, because it’s hard. There are lots of artists that want to be exactly what they see [and hear] on social media. They just want to be that instead of being what they actually can be. So get them to believe in what they are and what they truly can be. And even if it is a challenge, that challenge has always been one of the most fun things ever for me. I love it.
What exactly do you say or do when working with and developing new artists, since, as you just said, it’s so difficult to rise above everything that’s out there?
That you have to be at least good in whatever genre that you’re attacking, whether it’s hip-hop or not. And then you have to be willing to work as hard as you can to turn that good around into great. So come high at me, and you’ll be talking about the greatest. It’s that plain and simple. There are no keys. You just need to believe in what you’ve got and what you’re attacking, if you believe in it. Show me. Think harder, you know? Challenge yourself.
Ramona Rosales
What’s been your own secret to longevity?
I don’t have a secret. I just work. I just keep going. I never stop. It’s just the work ethic, plain and simple. No more, no less; I don’t do nothing but my music. And also, in my mind, every single time I say the word “work,” I ask God to forgive me. Cuz I know this has never been a job. It’s just a dream come true. So that’s why I’ve never stopped.
Is it difficult for you to say that to someone who’s not there yet?
Not at all. I can’t tell any other artists that. But if you’re my artist, oh hell, yeah. I’ll let them know. You better go do that sh-t again. (Laughs.)
What are your thoughts on the growing ranks of women rappers? Why has it taken so long for this to happen?
My answer would be, honestly, that it just wasn’t as interesting to women, I don’t think, in the way that Nicki [Minaj], Meg [Megan Thee Stallion] and others are. It’s awesome. I don’t think they looked at or viewed it as something that they wanted to do and actually make a living from it. That’s another part of it. They probably didn’t look at this as something that they could make a living out of.
And perhaps the industry has become a bit more open-minded, too?
Oh, yeah. Definitely. We’re here for everything now.
Where is the future of hip-hop headed — any trends that you’re noticing?
Obviously, always up and bigger and better. Also, what I’m seeing now is the art and the ultimate artist being able to do anything. It’s like when you and I were talking about basketball. Back then, we were looking for a Kareem [Abdul-Jabbar]; if you were tall, we wanted you in the paint. Not even knowing how to shoot a three-pointer; we didn’t even want to see that. Now we’ve got these seven-footers coming in, and we need you [to] know how to dribble like Allen Iverson, how to shoot like Steph Curry. You need to know how to defend like GP [Gary Payton]. And that’s the ultimate artist. I believe that that’s where the genre is headed: artists able to do everything — from singing to tapping into different emotions.
What’s your opinion on artificial intelligence and its potential effect on creativity?
Someone asked me about that recently. And they were trying to tell me that AI could make a voice that sounds just like me. But it’s not me, because I’m amazing. I’m like, is this AI thing going to be amazing too? Because I am naturally, organically amazing. I’m one of a kind. So actually, I would love to see that thing try to duplicate this motherf–ker.
In the wake of AI and other emerging technology, have mixtapes lost their relevance?
The terminology or definition has changed, that’s all. Mixtapes can mean an album mix or anything now. But when it comes to Lil Wayne, everybody knows how I approach mixtapes. So my mixtapes won’t ever change.
Any hints as to what fans can expect when you perform Aug. 11 at the hip-hop 50th anniversary concert at Yankee Stadium?
Do not set expectations for me, because I will always exceed them. So just go there with a clear mind, expect the best — and I’ll be better than that.
This story will appear in the Aug. 5, 2023, issue of Billboard.
Peso Pluma arrives slightly early to his own birthday party. He’s dressed in Dior from head to toe, but still looks casual in a long-sleeve button-down overshirt stamped with the designer’s oblique logo, dark jeans and black sneakers with white shoelaces. The famously punctual birthday boy, who’s turning 24 today (June 15), tours the venue — a gorgeous hidden garden just south of Guadalajara in Jalisco, Mexico, that’s overflowing with trees and sparkly chandeliers — to ensure his vision for the party has been executed. Amid the greenery is a makeshift club with a stage, a dancefloor surrounded by tables and couches, and a huge light-up bar that’s impossible to miss. Pretty much what one would expect a 20-something’s birthday party vibe to be like.
But his childhood dreams have also come to life here. Branching off the club area, there’s a sweets room with all sorts of Mexican candy and, separately, another room for all things savory, with countless bags of chips — from Takis to Ruffles to Tostitos — and an array of toppings like melted cheddar cheese, chile piquín, lime and corn. Piñatas, including one of Peso himself and another of Spider-Man (a childhood favorite), hang from the ceilings, and Peso flashes a pearly white, almost mischievous ear-to-ear smile when he sees them. “It’s exactly how I envisioned it,” he says with satisfaction.
He could say the same of his now globe-spanning career. The artist born Hassan Emilio Kabande Laija is at the forefront of Mexican music, leading the genre’s seismic growth in the United States and beyond with his signature corridos tumbados — a variety of the corrido (storytelling ballad) that often flaunts a chill yet lavish, weed-centric lifestyle. Raw, nasally and raspy, Peso’s distinctive vocals punctuate a sound powered by a requinto acoustic guitar, tololoche (a stringed bass instrument), charcheta (an alto horn) and trombone. And he remains a creative chameleon: Outside of corridos, he has recorded heartbreak and ultra-romantic songs, too.
Neither his voice nor sound are those of a typical pop star, but right now, Peso is one of the biggest artists in the world. To date, he has over 700 million on-demand official streams in the United States, according to Luminate, and 18 entries on the Billboard Hot 100 — including the blockbuster hit “Ella Baila Sola” with Eslabon Armado, which made history as the first regional Mexican song to enter the top five on the all-genre chart. In June, he became the first artist to ever lead both the Billboard Global 200 and Billboard Global Excl. U.S. lists simultaneously with different songs: the sierreño anthem “Ella Baila Sola” and his Bizarrap-produced track “Bzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 55.” His new album, Génesis, debuted at No. 3 on the Billboard 200 (dated July 1) — the highest rank ever for a música mexicana album on the chart.
“My life has changed a lot,” says Peso, who recalls that his first shows in Mexico just last year were attended by 500 people. (These days, he’s performing in arenas for upwards of 10,000.) Since his first hit, “El Belicón” with Raúl Vega, entered Billboard’s Hot Latin Songs chart in April 2022, he has landed 12 top 10 songs on the list, all in 2023 — the most for any regional Mexican act this year. Now, just days before releasing Génesis, he’s back in Mexico after spending the first half of 2023 on the road. In April, amid a brief run of U.S. dates, he performed at Coachella as a guest for Becky G’s set and then flew to New York to play “Ella Baila Sola” on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon. He has also visited Colombia, Chile and the Dominican Republic, where he recorded collaborations with Blessd, Nicki Nicole and El Alfa, respectively.
“Now my life is my work, and I live for this,” he says. Peso doesn’t come from a family of musicians and is notoriously private about his family life but shares that his “familia trabajadora (hardworking family)” instilled that go-getter mentality in him at a young age. “I’m very happy to do what I love doing the most and to be able to share a message of perseverance with up-and-coming artists. Sometimes, as Mexicans, we put a lot of barriers on ourselves and we lack the confidence. Today, I see that people are proud of our movement. Back then, they’d think that Mexicans couldn’t have a No. 1 song singing corridos and that regional Mexican music was only regional, not global. Today, all those barriers have been broken.”
Lust T-shirt, Bottega Veneta vest, Palm Angels jeans, A Bathing Ape sneakers, Off-White eyewear.
Mary Beth Koeth
Born on the outskirts of Guadalajara, Peso Pluma — who at one point dreamed of becoming a professional soccer player — was fully immersed in corridos as a kid, listening to artists such as late sierreño star Ariel Camacho and Los Alegres del Barranco. “It’s what my uncles and family in Sinaloa [Mexico] would listen to,” he says. He spent time as a teen in New York and attended high school in San Antonio (he is bilingual, though he spoke in Spanish for this interview), and his exposure to different pockets of the continent influenced his diverse musical palette.
“Peso Pluma is really a combination of everything I like, of all the cities I’ve lived in, cultures I’ve come to know. It has all helped me,” he says. “When I went to the United States, I was listening to Kanye [West], Drake, Kendrick Lamar — it’s actually because of their songs that I learned to speak English. I’d come home from school and study their lyrics to try to understand the references they were making.” During a visit to New Orleans, he fell in love with jazz and the trombone, now a key instrument in his sound. He began writing his own lyrics in a diary-style notebook around the age of 15. Inspired by Camacho, who became a generational hero after his untimely death at age 22 in a 2015 car accident, Peso also learned to play guitar by watching YouTube videos. “There’s corridos in which you’ll hear me rap,” he says. “My music is inspired by many cultures, and that’s what I love about it.”
It was that versatility that struck George Prajin most when he met Peso in 2019 through one of his former artists, regional Mexican singer Jessie Morales, who performs as El Original de la Sierra. Although impressed with Peso’s previously released recordings, he didn’t sign him then, which was a “mistake,” says Prajin. So instead, Peso signed with Jessie’s brother, Herminio Morales — but, two years later, “Herminio called me saying he wasn’t doing well with his health and asked me to basically take on the project,” the Los Angeles-based Prajin explains. “I got a second opportunity.”
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For many years, Prajin had been looking for an artist who could successfully fuse hip-hop and corridos. As the son of Antonio Z. Prajin, owner of music retailer and distributor Prajin One-Stop, “I saw that a lot of the kids in the ’90s would buy corridos but also buy hip-hop. Back then, it was The Notorious B.I.G. or 2Pac and Chalino Sánchez. I always thought that I could invent some fusion that would be the biggest thing on the planet. When I met Peso, I thought, ‘Maybe this is the way that we’re going to get this done.’ ”
While Peso loved an array of genres, he was very clear about how he didn’t want to sound. “I remember he told me, ‘If I’m going to record reggaetón, then it has to be an all-reggaetón song. If I’m going to do a rap song, it has to be a rap song. Same with regional,’ ” says Prajin. “At first, I was like, ‘Wow, are you sure?’ But now I understand why: because he can own each one of those genres. He’s that versatile, and he’s that good. He knows what he’s doing and knows exactly what he wants. That’s when I said, ‘Take the lead, Peso.’ ”
Peso Pluma didn’t reach the summit of Mexican music on his own — and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Of his 20 songs to appear on the Hot 100 this year, 18 are collaborations, with young artists like Natanael Cano, who in the late 2010s pioneered the corridos tumbados (trap corridos) subgenre; sierreño powerhouse Junior H; and corridos singer Luis R Conriquez.
“It’s beautiful to see that if I invite Luis R or Nata to sing with me at a show or on my album, they’re there. We all may be prideful and have an ego, but we’re there for each other,” Peso says confidently. He knows that collaborations have been key in the recent rise of regional Mexican music. “At the end of the day, they’re not doing this for me — they’re doing it for the culture of Mexican music. We’re coming together to help this grow because that’s what they did with reggaetón. All the artists came together to grow the genre, and later, they were able to be successful on their own.”
Supreme jacket, Balenciaga T-shirt, Burberry shorts, Nike socks and sneakers, Off-White eyewear.
Mary Beth Koeth
According to Luminate, regional Mexican music consumption in the United States jumped 42.1% year to date through May 25, outpacing gains in the Latin genre overall, as well as country, dance/electronic, rock and pop. Only K-pop — up 49.4% year to date — has performed better this year than regional Mexican. About 99% of regional Mexican consumption comes from streaming. “For the past five years, we’ve seen numbers rising for the Mexican music genre,” says Maykol Sánchez, head of artist and label partnerships for Latin America and U.S. Latin at Spotify. During the past five years, the genre grew by 604% in Mexico, compared with 212% in the United States and over 400% globally.
Even within that context of astounding growth, Peso’s numbers are stunning. From June 2022 to June 2023, his average daily listeners increased by 4,341% and his average daily streams increased by 10,792%. “Música mexicana has gone through a similar evolution that reggaetón also went through when it blew up; [the artists have] modernized the way they look, the way they write lyrics, creating a movement for their generation. It has been a long time coming, and Mexican being such a strong culture in the U.S. with the population, it just makes sense,” Sánchez says.
With nearly 40 million residents of Mexican origin, the United States is home to the world’s second-largest Mexican community, which comprises over one-half of America’s overall Latin population. “Mexican music is now pop culture,” says AJ Ramos, head of artist partnerships for Latin music and culture at YouTube. “We’re seeing it because of the power of the Mexican diaspora, the connection between the U.S. and Mexico. The culture is here and the users are here. Artists from other Latin subgenres now have to start collaborating with them to have a hit.”
Thanks to massive team-ups like “Ella Baila Sola” with Eslabon Armado and his Bizarrap session, Peso has had No. 1s on YouTube’s global Top Songs chart in markets including Mexico, Colombia, El Salvador, Italy and Spain and is on track to be one of the 10 most viewed artists globally this year, according to the video streaming platform. “In 2018, one or two songs a week [from the genre] were entering the U.S. Top Songs chart; now the genre represents 25% of the chart,” YouTube music trends manager Kevin Meenan says.
Amiri hoodie and hat, Cartier eyewear.
Mary Beth Koeth
Regional Mexican music, an umbrella term comprising banda, corridos, norteño, sierreño, mariachi and other subgenres, has been a pillar of Latin music for decades. In the past year, the genre, which has been around for over 150 years, has exploded in popularity worldwide, reaching a broader audience after being long considered music solely for Mexican and Mexican American audiences. Back in the day, the music was heavily stigmatized, considered música de rancho (rancho music), and its listeners were often stereotyped as uneducated or poor.
That’s no longer the case, explains Pepe Garza, head of content development and A&R for media company Estrella Music Entertainment. “Young people in general aren’t as prejudiced as older generations, and they’re not judging each other about the music they’re listening to. That has been important to the genre’s growth.”
Now global forces like Bad Bunny and Colombian hit-maker Ovy on the Drums (Karol G’s longtime producer) are recording norteñas and corridos, respectively. “We had been so saturated with the same thing over and over again,” says Ovy on the Drums, who collaborated with Peso on “El Hechizo,” a corrido fused with Ovy’s signature dancehall beat. “Mexican music is huge right now, and not just with corridos — they’re also killing it with reggaetón. Enter Peso, who can do it all. Plus, he’s really good onstage. He has the whole package.”
Peso Pluma photographed on June 28, 2023 at Toe Jam Backlot in Miami.
Mary Beth Koeth
Peso’s high-energy performances are a spectacle. Singing live — usually clad in shorts and a T-shirt, his signature high socks, his favorite pair of white Air Force 1s and, at times, a Spider-Man mask — he tirelessly dances and jumps along to songs with the backing of a riveting live band. He’s a dynamo who feeds off his equally energetic, multigenerational fan base. When Becky G brought him out at Coachella, the crowd roared to greet him — an especially memorable reception, given that he was then an emerging global act.
“His tone is something that is hard to forget, and it instantly made me appreciate how unique he is as an artist,” says Becky G, who teamed up with Peso for “Chanel,” the first single off her upcoming Mexican music album. “But I also think he allows his personality to shine even more through his stage presence that’s equally as unique as he is. I went to go watch him perform at his first U.S. tour run, and his energy was so contagious — I think it plays a huge part in how much he connects with his fans.”
“Before Peso, there was Grupo Firme, who was doing big things for the genre, and before Grupo Firme, there was Banda MS,” Garza says. “It’s natural that new [regional Mexican] artists keep reaching new heights because they’re standing on the shoulders of the ones that came before them.” Peso is the latest evolution of regional Mexican stardom — fearless and revolutionary like those before him, but with a magnetic charm all his own.
It’s difficult to describe Peso Pluma’s haircut. Something like a mullet with a sideburn fade, it doesn’t exactly scream trend in the making. Yet, like all things Peso, it’s now in high demand.
“The other day, a barber from Mexico City called me and said, ‘Thank you for giving us so much work.’ Apparently, 24 people had requested ‘the Peso Pluma haircut’ in one day,” says Peso in shock. Even many on his own team haven’t heard the story of how he got that haircut in the first place. “I used to have long hair — think Justin Bieber back when he released ‘Baby,’ ” Peso recalls with a chuckle. “My hair is a superpower, so I’m very particular about who cuts my hair. On a trip to Medellín, Colombia, this barber said he was going to give me a haircut that is very popular in Medellín — he said, ‘Trust me, you’re going to love it.’ I hated it at first. I was like, ‘What did you do?’ Then I recorded a music video, and when I saw it, I was like, ‘Wait, actually, se ve bien perro [it looks really good].’ ”
So for now, he’s sticking with it — though he’s focused on influencing his followers in other ways. In April, he launched his own label, Double P Records, where he serves as CEO and head of A&R, as a subsidiary of his home label, Prajin Records. “I’m super happy to be able to help my friends because that’s how I see them. I don’t see them as my artists,” he explains. “More than anything, I want them to know that if I could do it, so can they. I’m on this journey with them; we’re paddling together. I tell them, ‘Learn from whatever is happening in my career. Take notes because I’m still growing just as you are.’ ” So far, those friends include Jasiel Nuñez, Tito Laija (Peso’s cousin and one of his co-writers) and Raúl Vega.
Starting a new label with Peso was a no-brainer, says Prajin, who also manages him. “I have that much faith in him,” Prajin adds. “When he saw that I really trusted him, he trusted me even more. We’ve never had boundaries. Everything he has ever wanted, every collab he has ever desired, we’ve made it happen. He definitely knows I have his back in terms of his career. I think, too, the way that we structured his deal — a lot of artists don’t make money until their second or third year. He’s making money in his first year. We’re partners, and I think he’s going to appreciate it even more when he sees not only that he’s making a lot of money, but he’s also keeping it.”
Mary Beth Koeth
While on his first-ever U.S. tour — which Prajin says had to be “renegotiated” with Live Nation to add dates following his rapid rise — Peso released Génesis in June. “I think of it as my debut album,” he says, adding that it features some of his “favorite” artists, including Cano, Junior H, Luis R and Nuñez. Following its release, it became Spotify’s all-time most streamed regional Mexican album in one day globally. Its strong streaming performance led to Peso placing a historic 25 simultaneous titles on the Hot Latin Songs chart (dated July 8), breaking Bad Bunny’s record of 24.
Although his first two albums were recorded more spur of the moment (and thus sound less professional), “I didn’t want to delete my previous albums because they represent my beginnings,” Peso says. “Those albums are the foundation of my castle. But I put all my effort into this new album, which includes songs to dance to, cry to, party to; there’s something for everyone. It’s a corridos album — or call them whatever you want: corridos verdes, tumbados, bélicos, because at the end of the day, it’s all Mexican music. It’s what I’m most proud of: that a Mexican song, a corrido, that isn’t pop can be No. 1 today.”
Globalizing Mexican music has been Peso’s goal since day one, and as he describes it, he’s just getting started. Performing at Coachella with Becky G was eye-opening for him, and he hopes to return to the festival next year to perform his own set. His manager says that’s already in the works, along with U.S. stadium dates in 2024, more collaborations with major Latin artists and eventually recording English-language songs with big names in the hip-hop world.
“I think people knew what corridos were because of Natanael and Bad Bunny’s collaboration [2019’s “Soy el Diablo”], but I really want artists from outside of our world to know what this music is all about,” says Peso enthusiastically. “Now that this has all exploded, everyone wants to do Mexican music. That’s how we globalize it: through key collaborations with artists who want to record our music.”
Mary Beth Koeth
His five-year plan isn’t set in stone but goes something like this: “I see myself working with artists and producers I’ve always dreamed of working with. I see myself winning a Grammy, breaking more records, but in five years, I see myself more like Hov, like Jay-Z, spending more time on the business side of it all and helping young artists achieve their dreams,” he says with determination.
For now, he’s OK with a different alter ego: Peter Parker, conveniently also a double P. “I always used to tell my friends that I was Peter Parker, and now it all makes sense,” says Peso with a smile. “Peter Parker is Hassan offstage, but Peso Pluma is Spider-Man when he goes onstage and fights against the bad guys of the world.”
At his birthday party, it was Hassan from Guadalajara who showed up — who only wanted to enjoy every second with his best buds, some of whom he hadn’t seen in months, whom he would greet with a big hug and a huge smile. Once the festivities began around 9 p.m., Peso quickly took the stage to introduce the first artist who would perform that night: not Peso Pluma, but his best friend, Jasiel Nuñez. “Let’s enjoy new talent,” he said, adding a quick reminder: “The point is that we all have fun here.”
This story will appear in the July 15, 2023, issue of Billboard.
On a bright, sunny day in May in the rural Santa Clarita Valley, a 45-minute drive north of Los Angeles, the quintet known as Fuerza Regida and its clan roll up in three luxury cars: a 2023 black Cadillac Escalade SUV, a graphite off-roader Lamborghini Urus and a white Chevrolet Corvette. As the band members made their way to the shaded area, sporting brands like Rhude and Dior along with custom-fitted Dodger caps, their necks and wrists sparkled, dripping in diamonds.
Given their style, one could easily label the members of Fuerza Regida as rappers. But the group from San Bernardino, Calif., is a trailblazer of the burgeoning música mexicana (or regional Mexican, as the music is also known) movement that has taken over the Billboard charts since the beginning of the year.
Born and raised in the United States, the members of Fuerza Regida — frontman and lead songwriter Jesús Ortiz Paz (known as JOP), lead guitarist Samuel Jaimez, second guitarist Khrystian Ramos, tuba player José García and tololoche player Moisés López — have become one of the main drivers of a homegrown music that celebrates Northern Mexican roots with a trap bravado. “We’re all American, so we like to dress with American swag. Whatever we sang about, it wasn’t the regular ranch stuff. It was about what’s going on in the hood, what’s going on in California, what’s going on in these different [U.S.] states. Then it just started growing,” JOP tells Billboard Español.
“The worst enemy of a Mexican is another Mexican. There’s not as many duets now. You know why? Because in regional, they’re all enemies.”— JOP, leader of Fuerza Regida and businessman
It grew so much that it outpaced any other genre. On the Billboard Hot 100 dated July 1, 17 Spanish-language songs appear on the chart, and 13 of them are música mexicana. In May 2021, Gera MX and Christian Nodal made history with “Botella Tras Botella,” becoming the first regional Mexican title to enter the all-genre list. Before 2021, only three regional Mexican acts had appeared on the Hot 100 since 1958, but they were classified as Latin pop in the charts. This year, however, consumption of música mexicana has skyrocketed: As of May 25, its popularity jumped by 42.1% in the United States, topping all genres but K-pop, according to Luminate.
As for Fuerza Regida, the group earned its first entry on the Hot 100 in January with “Bebe Dame” alongside Grupo Frontera, a swaggering romantic cumbia jam with a grupera persuasion that peaked at No. 25. Since then, the group has placed three other tracks on the all-genre chart: “Ch y La Pizza” with Natanael Cano, “Igualito a Mi Apá” with Peso Pluma, and the band’s penultimate solo single, “TQM.”
José Garcia, Moisés López, Jésus Ortiz Paz, Khrystian Ramos and Samuel Jaimez of Fuerza Regida photographed on May 23, 2023 at Tranquility Canyon Ranch in Santa Clarita, Calif.
Martha Galvan
And while Fuerza Regida’s music falls under “regional Mexican” or “música mexicana” — an umbrella term that covers Mexican music genres from accordion-based norteñas and brass-powered banda to corridos, cumbia, mariachi and sierreño — the band takes things a bit further by mixing in a hip-hop mentality and swagger into its norteño sensibility.
“Fuerza Regida are transgressors in the música mexicana space, who really show us how the new generation of Mexican Americans in the U.S. have their own language, they know how to use it, how to reach fans. I feel that today they’re the voice of the people,” says Carlos Quintero, senior manager for artist relations and marketing at Sony Music.
Today, the rugged desert scenery of our Santa Clarita location and the band’s high-end urban gear, bling and luxe cars all collide neatly to highlight the rustic borderland sound with a trap twist that Fuerza Regida has been brewing to global hype.
Como En Familia
Gathered around the snack table, the members of Fuerza Regida are messing around like rowdy cousins at a family carne asada function. They, along with Ángel Ureta and Diego Millan of Calle 24 — two artists that JOP signed to his label, Street Mob Records — place bets on what is clearly an exhilarating game of dice. “Boom! It happens, foo, it happens,” exclaims López, as he and García split a wad of $10 bills for their winning round. “That was a beautiful hand, bro,” says Jaimez.
The name Fuerza Regida (pronounced REH-hee-dah, with the emphasis on the “e”) denotes, for its members, a dominant or ruling force, although the word “régida” does not exist in the dictionary of the Real Academia Española and “regida” without the accent means “governed.” But in the band members’ street language, it makes perfect sense.
Jesús Ortiz Paz of Fuerza Regida photographed on May 23, 2023 at Tranquility Canyon Ranch in Santa Clarita, Calif.
Martha Galvan
The group tends to speak primarily in English, with smatterings of Spanish. “La neta [or “the truth,” in Mexican slang], I didn’t learn English or Spanish. I got bad vocabulary,” says JOP. “Me too,” adds López. “We all do,” echoes García. “Yeah, man, I’m not good at that. I probably have like third grade level,” JOP jokes.
JOP navigates not just as a wildly entertaining and spontaneous frontman but also like a boss. He is assertive yet jokes around and doesn’t hold back when speaking his mind. “I wanted to be famous for whatever: a boxer or an actor. But I was like, ‘No, I’m going to go through the singing stuff, because I’ve been doing it since I was little with my dad,’ ” says JOP, who doesn’t shy away from making shockingly bold and controversial statements.
“The worst enemy of a Mexican is another Mexican,” he says bluntly. “There’s not as many duets now. You know why? Because in regional, they’re all enemies. I’m trying to tell everybody, ‘Hey, let’s get united,’ like we did a year back [when] the genre wasn’t popping like that,” he says. “The five, six that are on top [of the charts] don’t want to duet. Now that we got here, everyone’s like, ‘I’m cool, I’m cool,’ ” he says. While the Hot 100 is loaded with música mexicana collaborations, the skyrocketing money at stake has sparked more competition and caution among artists when selecting their collaborators, he alludes.
The five San Bernardino natives met through “destiny,” in their words, and word-of-mouth at JOP’s old gig. “I used to cut hair, and one of my clients said, ‘Hey, I know this band that’s looking for a bass player,’ ” he recalls. “I came in and I played the bass during practice. Then they asked me, ‘Hey, do you sing?’ I sang them a song, and they were like, ‘Hey, you want to be the singer?’ I’m like, ‘Yeah, we’re a group!’ ” That was six years ago.
With JOP’s raw, passionate vocals, Jaimez’s fiery requinto riffs, Ramos’ driving rhythmic guitar and García’s whirling yet powerful melodies on tuba, the first iteration of Fuerza Regida was born. In 2021, López, who’s about six years younger than the others (who are all either 26 or 27), joined the troupe on the tololoche (a kind of Mexican contrabass).
The first-generation Mexican Americans loved regional Mexican music from a young age, although they were shy to admit it back then. “You had to only listen to it at home,” JOP admits. “Now, it’s the opposite. It’s taking over. Now, it’s bigger than rap.”
José Garcia of Fuerza Regida photographed on May 23, 2023 at Tranquility Canyon Ranch in Santa Clarita, Calif.
Martha Galvan
The Power Of Mexican
Mexican music has always been hugely popular in Mexico and the United States thanks to the large stateside Mexican American community that consumed the sounds and looks from home. Regional Mexican artists not only performed genres like banda and norteño but dressed the part with cowboy hats, boots and matching uniforms. But in the past decade, regional Mexican artists lost ground to a new Latin urban movement that took over the charts.
In that climate, Fuerza Regida didn’t debut strong but instead steadily built momentum as its sound, and moxie, evolved. “We were the group that was the suckiest in town,” JOP recalls with a chuckle. “Although we sucked with the instruments, we had a unique style.” In 2018, Fuerza Regida released its first local hit — “Uno Personal,” a Chayín Rubino cover — and things began “popping off,” as the members say. That year, they also released their live debut, En Vivo Puros Corridos.
During this time, a phenomenon on both sides of the U.S.-Mexico border began to occur. Música mexicana equipped with a trap beat began to cross-pollinate and dominate streaming services. In 2018, corridos tumbados pioneer Natanael Cano from Hermosillo in Sonora, Mexico, and California group Herencia de Patrones began out-streaming some of the most notable players in pop and hip-hop.
Fuerza Regida also began making noise with its riveting corridos track “Radicamos En South Central” (2018), which was soon released by Rancho Humilde Records — the label that has been spearheading the música mexicana movement to unfathomable heights. “It really opened the doors for us,” JOP told Billboard in 2020. “Thanks to that song, Ramon Ruiz from Legado 7 discovered us and we got signed to two labels: his, Lumbre Music, and Rancho Humilde.”
Another turning point for the wider visibility of the movement was the group’s studio album Del Barrio Hasta Aquí (2019), which emerged as one of the leading trap corridos releases. On the cover, the then-four-piece appears to be crossing a street in front of a Santa Fe, N.M., pawn shop, like the cover of The Beatles’ Abbey Road. Sonically, the group took the rancheras out of Mexico and gave them a street-style, bicultural spin with a rags-to-riches lyrical approach, while still fondly reflecting on its neighborhood hustle. The album wound up appearing on several year-end critics’ lists.
Khrystian Ramos of Fuerza Regida photographed on May 23, 2023 at Tranquility Canyon Ranch in Santa Clarita, Calif.
Martha Galvan
It’s a sound that’s attracting both U.S. and Mexican fan bases. In the month of June, Fuerza Regida clocked 343 million views on its YouTube channel. And in one year’s time, the group has accumulated a staggering 2.9 billion streams on the platform, with Mexico responsible for 1.6 billion views and the United States 872 million. Guatemala, Colombia and Honduras follow. The band’s top two streaming markets by city in the last 12 months are Mexico City, at 219 million, and Los Angeles, with 91.7 million. Following them are Mexican cities Guadalajara (65.4 million), Monterrey (61.7 million) and Tijuana (52 million), Dallas (49.7 million) and Guatemala City (47.4 million).
On Spotify’s most-streamed list, Fuerza Regida is No. 196, as of June 22, gathering 24.2 million monthly listeners, with most from Mexico: Mexico City has 3.7 million listeners, followed by millions more in Guadalajara, Monterrey, Zapopan and Puebla.
Last year, the band signed a bigger deal with Sony Music Latin through Rancho Humilde, whose founder, Jimmy Humilde, “transmits the emotion he has for the music and the genre,” says Quintero. “From the first song I heard by them in 2019 up until now, I’ve always thought they’re artists with the street cred and language that makes them very current in Mexican music.”
But the group is looking to go beyond that. “We’re actually trying to manifest [a collaboration] with Karol G,” says JOP. “We got that song ready for her whenever she wants to hop on. We would love to expand our relationship with other genres and make this bigger than what it is now.”
When Billboard Español spoke to Fuerza Regida in May, the band was fresh off releasing its latest hit, “TQM.” The song debuted at No. 35 on the Hot 100 and No. 19 on the Billboard Global 200. The group was also in between tour stops on its Mexico trek, preparing to embark on its first arena tour in the United States. The Otra Peda Tour (or “Another Drunken Tour” in Mexican slang) begins July 7 and has already sold out multiple stops including the band’s first two shows, in Dallas at the Dos Equis Pavilion and in Los Angeles at BMO Stadium.
“[The fans] all need to be lit,” JOP says excitedly. “If they’re not lit, I got to get them lit — and make sure they’re all singing each song. If they’re not singing it, I got to figure it out and change that. They go to turn up, not to be bored,” he says, before adding with a smirk: “I love drinking too much on tour.”
Moisés López of Fuerza Regida photographed on May 23, 2023 at Tranquility Canyon Ranch in Santa Clarita, Calif.
Martha Galvan
Through it all, JOP has made big efforts to support up-and-coming talent, which he mentors under his label, Street Mob Records, founded in 2018 in partnership with Rancho Humilde. This year, Street Mob signed a distribution deal with Cinq Music, which will be working label artists including Chino Pacas, Calle 24 and Ángel Tumbado.
“Regional Mexican is one of the hottest and fastest[-growing] genres in the world right now, so to have that relationship with someone like Jesús means a lot to us,” says Cinq Music president Barry Daffurn. “From the time we first started working in regional Mexican music and the first time I sat down with Jimmy of Rancho Humilde, our goal was to bring this music global. The vision at that point was not to make it regional Mexican music, but more música mexicana, expanding it outside that network, to all the countries outside of [Latin America].”
The multiple deals are very much in line with how Jimmy Humilde works. “He’s like a mini me,” he says of JOP. “He listens to me a lot, and he’s a firecracker. He works very, very, very hard. We work together, we plan everything together.”
Samuel Jaimez of Fuerza Regida photographed on May 23, 2023 at Tranquility Canyon Ranch in Santa Clarita, Calif.
Martha Galvan
JOP’s artist Chino Pacas recently entered the Hot 100 with his groundbreaking song “El Gordo Trae El Mando,” a testament to the label’s support and JOP’s business acumen.
“I started my label a year after my career,” he says, “because I’ve always liked…”
“Business,” García chimes in.
“…Money,” JOP adds. “Hard work beats talent, always. A little bit of luck, a little bit of talent, and hard work. I consider myself an artist, but I got to work a little harder because I’m [also] an entrepreneur. I’m a businessman. I got my whole company. I’m doing these big deals with my artists. I’m probably going to make more money with my label than I ever did with my career, with Fuerza Regida, but that’s fine because I enjoy being an artist.”
“[JOP] is an entrepreneur, and now he has his own label,” Quintero says. “But independent of anything else, he’s on TikTok, on Reels, on the YouTube charts, everywhere, always sharing his music. I think that’s the big key to success for this new generation of música mexicana, and he’s a big leader in that.”
There’s even a YouTube clip of the band visiting the Tijuana border crossing and performing in the line of cars awaiting entry like músicos callejeros, or buskers. That’s where they met one of JOP’s latest signees, Chuy Montana. “We went to the line because we wanted to experience how it felt to play for the cars,” JOP says. “[Montana] used to work there about a month ago. Now he’s in concert with us.”
Samuel Jaimez, Moisés López, Jesús Ortiz Paz, Khrystian Ramos and José Garcia of Fuerza Regida photographed on May 23, 2023 at Tranquility Canyon Ranch in Santa Clarita, Calif.
Martha Galvan
In December, Fuerza Regida ambitiously released two full-length albums a few days apart, Pa Que Hablen and Sigan Hablando. The band supported the releases with publicity stunts like performing on the rooftop of a supermarket in San Bernardino. “Thousands” showed up, according to Quintero. “They really are the voice of the people when it comes to música mexicana today,” he says.
And increasingly, the group is becoming the voice of the people beyond Mexican and Mexican American audiences.
“Artists like Natanael Cano, Fuerza Regida and [others] are writing about things that are different from the stories in Mexico or about drug cartels [like traditional corridos or narcocorridos],” says Krystina DeLuna, Latin music programmer at Apple Music. “[JOP] is very proudly Mexican American, but he has always had that global mindset, [so] their approach to música mexicana is innovative. Whether they do a more traditional-leaning song or take risks and push boundaries, their essence always comes through and connects.”
Being Mexican American, JOP says, means that “you hit the gold pot. It’s the best.”
“I wouldn’t want to be Mexican. I wouldn’t want to be American,” he says. “I’m perfect.”
On Oct. 27, 2018, Portugal. The Man played its second sold-out hometown show at Alaska Airlines Center, a 5,000-capacity arena in Anchorage. It marked the end of a globe-spanning two-year trek promoting Woodstock, the band’s 2017 album that yielded its Grammy Award-winning crossover hit, “Feel It Still.” But as soon as the celebratory finale ended, frontman John Gourley was crying in a bathroom.
“I just broke down in tears,” he remembers. “The second we got offstage I was just realizing that emotionally, we took on so much for an introvert [like myself] who just prefers being at home. And being thrown into all of that, it was really intense. But we didn’t realize until that night, like, ‘Oh, wow. This is… difficult to do.’ ”
He had no idea that the following years would prove even more trying. That after having the biggest hit of the band’s career, Portugal. The Man would nearly fall apart. And that, 20 years after the group formed in Alaska in the early 2000s, he would be forced to face his anxieties as a frontman who cringes at attention to prevent its fragmentation.
Today, Gourley is back where he feels at ease. At 42, a boyish wonderment consumes him as he walks his father’s woodsy plot of land in Wasilla, just over 40 miles north of Anchorage. There’s the main house and its attached garage with floor-to-ceiling shelves of construction materials — the family business — and a greenhouse in the back. There’s the detached garage that stores a motorboat. And there are two small guest homes, one filled with music memorabilia, including sleeves of vinyl albums that inspired Gourley as a kid: The Beatles’ Revolver, the Bee Gees’ Idea, Jefferson Airplane’s Crown of Creation and dozens more. There’s a Portugal. The Man poster on one wall, and above the door frame, a life-size ticket stub from that last night of the band’s 2018 tour.
Portugal. The Man — a name inspired by David Bowie’s larger-than-life fame, contrasting the enormity of an entire country with a single person — initially formed as a side project led by Gourley and bassist Zach Carothers, both of whom got their start in the emo band Anatomy of a Ghost. The longtime friends and bandmates met at Wasilla High School and quickly started making music together — while also quickly realizing that to make it their career, they would have to leave Alaska.
“It was kind of my push,” says Gourley, who has since operated much like the Wizard of Oz, quietly leading from behind a curtain. “ ‘We’re going to leave Alaska and just keep going.’ So we bought a minivan and a rice cooker — we had no money at the time and probably spent more money on gas looking for a rice cooker at Goodwill. We found one for six bucks, went to the Asian market and got a 5 pound bag of rice and just went out on tour.”
Gourley at his father, John Gourley Sr.’s, house in Wasilla, standing in front of the tree he climbs in the music video for “Noise Pollution” off Woodstock.
Brian Adams
By 2004, they had made Portland, Ore. — a 44-hour drive southeast of Anchorage — their home base, fleshing out the band with drummer Jason Sechrist and keyboardist Ryan Neighbors along the way. In 2006, Portugal. The Man independently-released its debut album, Waiter: “You Vultures!” and within months signed with manager Rich Holtzman (currently senior vp of marketing and artist development at AEG Presents), who helped the act establish a five-year plan.
Festival appearances at Bonnaroo and Lollapalooza followed, as did four more independently released albums, arriving annually. All the while, Gourley maintained an unusual relationship with his role in the group: As much as he could, he avoided being a frontman entirely. He leaned on Carothers and the other band members to help absorb the spotlight, even performing with his back to the crowd.
By 2010, five years into its existence, Portugal. The Man signed a deal with Atlantic Records. “I just felt that they were so original and didn’t sound like any band out there at the time,” says Craig Kallman, the label’s chairman/CEO. He was so impressed, in fact, that he brought another then-rising signee — Bruno Mars — to see the band perform at the tiny (and since-closed) Los Angeles venue Space 15 Twenty. After the set, Mars offered a pivotal piece of feedback to Gourley: “That show was so cool, but all I could see was your ass.” Gourley has played facing his growing live audiences ever since.
Portugal. The Man has released three studio albums on Atlantic: 2011’s In the Mountain in the Cloud, 2013’s Evil Friends and 2017’s Woodstock. But while all landed in the top 50 of the Billboard 200, Woodstock altered the band’s trajectory completely, thanks to breakout single “Feel It Still.” The groovy, uptempo song — which samples The Marvelettes’ “Please Mr. Postman,” a Gourley family favorite on trips by dogsled to the grocery store — became an undeniable, and entirely unexpected, career-defining hit, and ushered in a series of firsts for the band.
“Feel It Still” scored Portugal. The Man its first Billboard Hot 100 entry, peaking at No. 4; it became the band’s first No. 1 on several charts, including Alternative Airplay, Hot Rock & Alternative Songs and Pop Airplay; and it earned the band its first Grammy nomination and win for best pop duo/group performance. (Gourley gave his trophy to Holtzman.) To date, “Feel It Still” has racked up 1.21 billion on-demand official U.S. streams and generated approximately $25 million globally (in recorded music and publishing royalties) from track sales, streams and radio play, Billboard estimates based on Luminate data. It’s also a go-to among music supervisors; the song has been Shazammed over 20 million times, earning key synch placements in the trailer for the film Peter Rabbit and shows including Love, Simon and Riverdale.
Though Gourley often refers to the hit vaguely as “that song,” he’s grateful for the success it brought the band. “ ‘Feel It Still’ gave us so much,” he says. “We have houses, I have a car… it feels so special and I’m just so gracious of everything that came along with that song.” But “emotionally, it was really difficult. It was this really stressful period for the band, just having that crossover success.”
Even so, the band believed it was ready to hit the ground running with its ninth album and hoped to return to the frequent release schedule of its early days. Mainstream success afforded the group its pick of producer, and the band ultimately landed on Jeff Bhasker, whom Gourley had dreamed of working with since Bhasker produced Kanye West’s game-changing 808s & Heartbreak. What was on track to be a two-year project became three, and then five, with the band finally turning in the album last December — and along the way, everything changed.
During that five-year period, the band members variously faced personal loss, addiction, a potentially career-ending health issue and an “aggressively progressive” diagnosis, all of which happened amid the isolation of the pandemic.
In 2019, Chris Black — a close friend who, after meeting the group in Los Angeles in the 2010s, became its unofficial DJ and MC — died suddenly. Black always kept the band members laughing, quick to crack a joke or put someone in their place. “It’s not common for a band like us to have an MC, but it made me feel really good,” says Gourley.
“He was also the glue for all of our friends,” he adds. “The thing that I miss the most is the way he held that friend group together… it just slipped away a little bit, and I think it’s difficult, recognizing that.” Coupled with the fact that, for the first time, the band members were living apart for an extended period of time through the pandemic, a natural rift formed — or perhaps widened — within it, leaving its lineup in limbo. Portugal. The Man has a long history of revolving musicians — its Wikipedia page includes a color-coded timeline of 13 past and present members’ histories — and Gourley and Carothers are the only two who appear on every album; the current lineup consists of Gourley (vocals, guitar), Carothers (vocals, bass), Zoe Manville (vocals, percussion), Kyle O’Quin (keys) and Eric Howk (guitar). (After rejoining in 2016, drummer Jason Sechrist has exited again.)
Gourley at his father’s house in Wasilla.
Brian Adams
The second of two guest homes on John Gourley Sr.’s plot of land, which houses music memorabilia.
Brian Adams
With the band members — who, up until Woodstock, had lived together — now by necessity living in the separate homes they only recently were able to afford, they were left alone with more time on their hands than ever before. By the end of 2018, Gourley was experiencing the worst pain of his life. He broke his jaw (the left side, he learned, had actually been broken for years; the right side snapped from the resulting pressure) and later split two teeth. He was bedridden for months, largely unable to sing or perform for over a year.
Then, in 2021, Gourley and Manville (who married in 2017) learned that their 11-year-old daughter, Frances, had a rare neurodegenerative genetic disease known as DHDDS, which shares symptoms with both dementia and Parkinson’s (she is one of only six known patients with her specific mutation). By June 2022, Howk, Carothers and O’Quin had all battled different addictions and entered rehab (the three members declined to share further related details).
Now, come June 23, Chris Black Changed My Life — the album that began with Bhasker almost five years ago — will chronicle the band’s turbulent last few years following the runaway success of “Feel It Still.” Though the album is finished, the band is still working itself out — and determining in real time how to juggle what comes next, from promotion to touring. With the band members’ relationships and finances riding on this album’s success, Gourley is now embracing the role he has long avoided: an actually-front-facing frontman.
“Everybody has their personal things going on. We finally understand what has been happening with Frances,” he says. “The stakes have changed. The motivation has changed. The reason I’m doing this — it has all changed. I can’t be the anxiety-ridden kid anymore. There’s this moment of adulthood and growing up or whatever it is… It’s stepping out and taking on that role in a way that I haven’t in the past.”
“Who the f–k is Portugal. The Man?”
That’s the question Jeff Bhasker found himself asking in 2017, when he randomly browsed iTunes after a period where he had tuned out popular music. “No. 1, ‘Feel It Still’ by Portugal. The Man,” he recalls. “Just the name of their band was kind of arresting and makes you curious. It got me really interested in who they were.”
About a year later, the group showed up at his door. “We were traveling around L.A. doing the tour of producers that wanted to work with us post-massive song and they’re all like, ‘They must have another one in there!’ I’ve written a hundred songs, dude. I have one,” Gourley says with a laugh.
To determine who should produce its next album, the band decided the best approach was to just get in the studio and write. Bhasker was at the top of its wish list — but when the band members arrived, instruments in hand, at his house, he proposed they have a conversation before jumping in. “We just listened to music and talked about Alaska and experience and clicked as people,” says Gourley.
“I like to let the artist tell me who they are and meet them where they’re at,” Bhasker explains. “It was so interesting hearing about the white van and the rice cooker — just on the highest level of being a broke band. I love the way they describe their progression of like, ‘Well, on the first album, we learned how to play our instruments.’ ”
Gourley skipping rocks.
Brian Adams
Gourley at Knik Lake.
Brian Adams
Bhasker says the years that followed — pandemic aside — felt like an “Usain Bolt-level sprint to finish the album,” with the band clocking hours at studios in Los Angeles, New York and Portland, as well as Bhasker’s studio in Malibu, Calif., and Sonic Ranch in Tornillo, Texas, where Portugal. The Man recorded its first album with Atlantic over a decade prior.
After first signing with the label, Gourley explains, he’d felt the need to bring his bandmates into the studio for his mostly solitary writing process. (Through In the Mountain in the Cloud, the sole writing credits on the band’s albums are his.) “It was just this feeling of like, ‘We’re a band — everybody comes in,’ ” he says. “And I think it was also the expectation of producers a lot of the time. They always think, ‘Stick Portugal. The Man in a room and they’ll just jam and sing.’ That has been the process every single time, and we had never done it pre-Atlantic.”
For the band’s ninth album, everyone left the studio at first — “It felt more personal,” Gourley says — though O’Quin eventually joined most sessions, and Carothers and Manville are credited as co-writers on several tracks.
Gourley recalls his first recording session while still rehabbing his jaw, working again with Electric Guest’s Asa Taccone (who co-wrote and co-produced “Feel It Still”) on four tracks that made it onto Chris Black Changed My Life. Looking back now, he says the brooding and downtempo “Plastic Island” stands out most because he can hear himself literally singing through his teeth, since he still couldn’t open his jaw all the way. On the song, he wonders: “Is it the end, my friend?” The album’s pensive closing track — the nearly six-minute-long “Anxiety:Clarity” featuring veteran songwriter and ASCAP president Paul Williams — opens with the line: “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“That’s the way I was feeling coming out of everything and finally getting to express myself after two years of like, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do this again,’ ” says Gourley. “I laid in bed thinking I would never be able to do anything ever again. I thought I was going to die. I thought about Frances, and what’s she going to do? I was depressed.”
Frances herself appears on the album, singing on “Ghost Town” and “Time’s a Fantasy”; Gourley calls the latter, which also features Canadian rapper Sean Leon and Bhasker, one of the album’s heavier songs. “We had just found out that Frances has this very rare genetic disease,” he recalls. “Zoe and I were just bawling in the studio with Jeff and Sean, and Frances ended up singing on it. She must have felt some spiritual connection to this song because it’s so slow and emotional, but she would hear it and loved singing [the line], ‘I got a feeling it’s gonna be just fine.’ ” (The band recently launched a donation page called Frances Changed My Life to raise money to fund both multimillion-dollar research and treatment for her.)
An old boat seen in a Portugal. The Man music video on Knik Lake stuck in the silt flats.
Brian Adams
Gourley wears a shirt honoring the band’s late friend and unofficial member Chris Black.
Brian Adams
Bhasker says nailing down the album’s subject matter was understandably difficult. “It’s all about John’s anxiety, and all of them and everything they went through and are all going through as a band, as a family, as people who just struggled to achieve a dream — and achieved it,” he says. “And then maybe questioned, ‘What are we doing here, and what do we really stand for?’ ”
Both Bhasker and Gourley recall their time at Sonic Ranch in the fall of 2022 fondly, mostly because that’s where a thematic track list started to take shape. “To see the album kind of emerge, and most of all to see a smile on John’s face… it was kind of like a ’70s movie where they would just shoot endless footage and hope there’s a movie in there,” says Bhasker. “And then to see the movie unfold and work was the most satisfying moment.”
The end result is a deeply layered and complex album that is equally beautiful and heartbreaking; with everything Gourley and the band have endured, and continue to experience, how could it be anything else? Even the uptempo lead single, “Dummy,” co-written with Taccone (and which debuted in a Taco Bell commercial), hints at the album’s unifying ethos: “Everyone I know is running from the afterlife,” sings Gourley.
“It is our best album,” Gourley confidently states. “I was really surprised when we got to the end of it, because this had been the thing that I had been searching for forever. It’s these really tight, concise ideas, like, ‘Can you tell a story in a sentence?’ I obsess over that, and I feel like this record, we did it. I did the thing that we were chasing. This is what I have been trying to write forever.”
Gourley exhales, taking in the towering snowcapped mountains of Hatcher’s Pass, just north of Wasilla. These are the mountains he would ditch high school to snowboard with Carothers. The same ones he recently carried Frances up while she napped on his shoulders. And the same ones that today are prompting him to wonder why he ever left. “I just miss Alaska so much,” he says with a sigh.
In a recent clip on Instagram — part of the band’s Knik Country Broadcast series, in which Gourley answers quick-hit questions — Gourley said, “Everything I’ve ever written is about Alaska.” It’s also fair to say everything that Portugal. The Man does is for Alaska.
In 2020, while still enjoying the “Feel It Still” high, the band launched the PTM Foundation — the acronym is a double-entendre that also stands for Pass the Mic — which advocates for human rights, community health and the environment, with a particular focus on Indigenous Peoples. (In 2022, the foundation raised $93,000 in grants given to 40 different tribes, impact organizations and community groups.) The band was always intended to serve more than itself, operating with curiosity and care for the surrounding world — and questioning its place in it.
When Bhasker started working with Portugal. The Man, it had been a while since his last collaboration with a band (by his estimation, it was with fun. on its 2012 smash hit, “We Are Young,” featuring Janelle Monáe). “It was definitely a challenge to navigate all the dynamics and all the growth and all the changes they had been going through — and especially during COVID, when everyone was going through all kinds of existential changes and being faced with a lot of really deep, personal struggles and revelations in their lives.”
As Gourley sees it, the success of “Feel It Still” — paired with perhaps too much time apart — amplified and exposed those individual struggles. “I think with that song being so successful so late in our career, it’s a rare thing,” he says. “Eighth record, a song like that? There comes complacency: ‘I’m content. I have a house. I don’t have to do this.’ But I still feel very hungry.”
A pair of moose on the way down from Hatcher’s Pass.
Brian Adams
Gourley on the road through Hatcher’s Pass.
Brian Adams
Playing so many festivals, in particular, he believes, can be “the death of a band… I was forgetting lyrics to ‘Feel It Still’ because of the monotony — and I love that song. I love that song more than any song we’ve ever written. I have never been built to show up and play a setlist, and we got stuck in that for a long time. I think people want comfort, and I feel like comfort is actually not the best thing for creativity.”
Portugal. The Man relentlessly toured through 2019 and resumed in 2022, co-headlining arenas with Alt-J. But this year, despite a new album, its schedule is significantly pared down. In June, it returned to Bonnaroo and in August will play Lollapalooza Chicago followed by the Austin City Limits festival in October. Otherwise, it has booked only a handful of headlining shows at iconic venues in key territories, like Colorado’s Red Rocks, New York’s Radio City Music Hall and Los Angeles’ Hollywood Bowl. The band’s live lineup adds four new musicians to the mix, including a new drummer.
When speaking of what the band’s present — and future — looks like, it’s clear Gourley isn’t entirely sure what to say, or how. He’s cautious not to speak only for himself but also not for anyone else, often seesawing between “I” and “we.” (The band’s other members did not speak for this story; for this album cycle, Gourley has chosen to do press by himself.) He recalls a particular phone call with legendary musician and singer Edgar Winter, whose “Dying To Live” is sampled on the Chris Black Changed My Life track “Champ.”
“This is what I would say about the situation with the band,” says Gourley. “It’s a pretty easy way to sum it up: [Edgar] called me one day and said, ‘I’m going to tell you about the best band I ever played in. The best band I ever played in lived in Chicago in a one-bedroom apartment. We had all had success, but we lived in a one-bedroom apartment. We could all afford things, but we lived in a one-bedroom apartment. We ate together, we slept together, we had this experience together. As soon as we got our own places, we stopped being the best band I ever played in.’
“The thing is, no matter where I go, I’m still sleeping on the floor in that one-bedroom apartment,” continues Gourley, speaking in a slow, hushed voice. “For this band to keep going, you have to have that excitement constantly around you, so you don’t forget that we worked really hard to get [here].”
He already has his sights set on the album after this one. “I am so excited to go back into outer space and do the craziest [stuff] and experiment with structure post-this record,” he says.
But for now, he’s grounding himself where it all started — running around with his nieces and nephews at his father’s house, hanging from wooden beams like monkey bars. Fortunately for Gourley, he can always come back home. As his father fondly jokes, “When he started playing music, we lost our best roofer.”
After all this time, it seems a fair trade. Gourley found himself.
06/22/2023
John Gourley in his home state of Alaska.
06/22/2023
In February, when Kaytranada’s stage manager, Tamir Schlanger, texted him to ask if he had a vision for his Coachella performance, the artist responded with screenshots of the giant metallic head from The Wiz, the 1978 musical film featuring Michael Jackson and Diana Ross. He wondered: Could Schlanger replicate it, but with his own head?
Out of context, the images were menacing — the almighty wizard, spewing smoke and lasers — but funny, too; one featured Richard Pryor’s character, a failed politician from New Jersey named Herman Smith, peeping up sheepishly through the hole in The Wiz’s eye. All smoke and mirrors. Was the 30-year-old producer-DJ commenting on the steely facade of celebrity? Was the production meant to highlight the dichotomy between Louis Kevin Celestin, the shy kid born to Haitian immigrants who grew up in a quiet Montreal suburb, and the Grammy-winning musical wiz better known as Kaytranada?
“There really was no thought process at all, honestly,” Kaytranada admits about a month after his performance, emphasizing that the decision was purely aesthetic: He was just a fan of the movie and noticed his own physical resemblance to The Wiz’s face. “I just wanted to make something iconic,” he says.
Prior to his Coachella performance, there was little disputing Kaytranada’s accomplishments behind the scenes, where he had cultivated a reputation as a personally reserved but musically boisterous tastemaker. Over the course of two albums, 2016’s 99.9% and 2019’s Grammy-winning Bubba, he established himself as a go-to producer and deft collaborator, a singular artist able to adapt his sound to the strengths of everyone from hip-hop stars like Chance the Rapper to experimental R&B singers like Kelela while still maintaining his distinct style: a feel-good blend of dance, R&B, Afrobeats, disco and hip-hop. In the process, he also became one of the biggest gay Black artists in a genre of increasingly influential music founded by gay Black artists.
Kaytranada has jokingly called his music “Black tropical house” and “futuristic disco,” though today, speaking to Billboard, he describes it as “a new era of new jack swing.” And there is a definitive swing that distinguishes his production style, which borrows from elements of the Haitian dance genre compas, including the slightly off drum placements that imprint his otherwise sleek productions with a soulful, human touch. What has become known as the “Kaytranada sound” — a term he feels sometimes boxes him into the past — lies in the tension between the comfort of nostalgia and the excitement of the future, and has earned him collaborations with artists he aspired to be like growing up, like Pharrell Williams.
“He has a refreshing energy and approach to music,” Williams says. “And we’re all so blessed that dance music is at the center of what he does — which is, make us dance in color.”
Marni top, pants, and blazer.
Joelle Grace Taylor
Since he caught the internet’s attention with early SoundCloud remixes of Missy Elliott and TLC, along with a freewheeling, widely memed 2013 Boiler Room set filmed in Montreal that has amassed 19 million YouTube views (Top comment: “This party should have its own Wikipedia page”), Kaytranada’s vibrant dance music has captivated audiences across the world. But there was something different about the Kaytranada who DJ’d in front of a giant sculpture of his own head during a prime-time slot at Coachella’s massive Outdoor Theatre.
It wasn’t just that lasers shot out of that head as he danced playfully to hits spanning his discography or how he hyped up the crowd while premiering his remix of Beyoncé’s 2022 disco-funk banger, “CUFF IT.” Nor was it the guest appearances from Kali Uchis and Aminé the first weekend or H.E.R., Tinashe and Anderson .Paak the second — all Kaytranada collaborators whose relationships with the producer extend beyond the studio. Instead, it was the unmistakable confidence fueling his showmanship, which finally mirrored the assured and sprightly pulse of his music.
As someone who came up DJ’ing in Montreal’s experimental hip-hop scene, Kaytranada says he used to judge other DJs for “overdoing it” onstage. “I was like, ‘I want my ones and twos, and that’s it,’ ” he says. “I have the music, and I understand it. I just didn’t want to go extra.” Looking back on his reservations, “it was probably my confidence,” he admits, noting that having a stage manager like Schlanger who is able to bring his “random ideas” to life has also been a tremendous help. “I just didn’t think I deserved to go that far. But now that I have accepted myself, I’m like, ‘OK, I’ll perform with a big crowd. I’ll perform at a stadium.’ That kind of inspired me to do a larger-than-life show.”
“That show is really a visual representation of a decade of hard work,” says William Robillard Cole, Kaytranada’s manager since 2013. The Coachella set, he says, proved to be a “pivotal moment” in not only solidifying trust with the team at RCA, which Kaytranada signed to in 2018, but in establishing the artist as a “true major hard-ticket act,” noting that offers from bookers started pouring in almost immediately. “People are like, ‘Bring the head! Let’s do a tour with the head!’ ”
Robillard Cole attributes Kaytranada’s newfound confidence onstage in part to opening for The Weeknd on his 2022 After Hours Til Dawn stadium tour but also cites two pivotal things that happened long before: Kaytranada coming out publicly in 2016 and moving from Montreal to Los Angeles shortly after, where he has bounced among a series of long-term Airbnbs when he’s not on the road. “As he has gotten older and more comfortable with himself, he has really been able to develop a performance attitude,” says Robillard Cole. “Kay is an entertainer. It’s true to his soul. That dude loves to dance, he loves to entertain people, he loves to DJ, and to see the progression as a performer over the last few years, it has just been incredible to watch.”
Marni suit, Dries Van Noten top, Martine Ali jewelry. Dog Model: Angel Hernandez.
Joelle Grace Taylor
In 2023, that progression promises to continue as Kaytranada heads to Europe in June to support another leg of The Weeknd’s tour. Later this year, he plans to release his third album, though he says it’s too early to discuss particulars beyond the heavier influence of new wave and industrial. And in May, he released a breezy collaborative record with rapper Aminé called Kaytraminé (get it?) that evokes that first sip of a frozen piña colada. Aminé says they selected album guests such as Williams, Big Sean, Amaarae, Freddie Gibbs and Snoop Dogg out of “pure fandom” and connected with each organically, with texts and phone calls rather than working through A&R — a testament, he adds, to Kaytranada’s likability. (The producer says his collaborations are now 60% people who approach him and 40% him reaching out to artists.)
“His master collaborator effect to me is because he’s so nonchalant about everything,” says Aminé, who met Kaytranada through SoundCloud in 2014 when he rapped over the producer’s early breakout, “At All.” “He’ll play the craziest beat and just be like, ‘Yeah, that was pretty cool.’ It’s so funny. I feel like a lot of artists go into sessions with producers who have big names or whatever, and the producers are really f–king intimidating sometimes. They’re like, ‘This is going to be a hit record, man! This is going to get you to the top!’ Corny sh-t that doesn’t really feel like yourself, and I think Kay is really good at giving artists room and just letting them flourish.”
His last album, Bubba, which showcased artists like Estelle, Masego and GoldLink, earned Kaytranada three nominations at the 2021 Grammys, including for best new artist, and a landmark pair of wins: best dance recording for “10%,” his funk-tinged, pay-me-now collaboration with Uchis, and the other for best dance/electronic album. The latter put Kaytranada in the record books as the first Black producer and first openly gay artist to win the category since it was created in 2004.
They’re notable distinctions, considering the foundational role gay Black men have played in dance music for the last 50 years. In places like Chicago, the birthplace of house, dance music was forged out of resistance, with underground clubs functioning as spaces of relative safety and freedom from the racist and homophobic status quo. While smaller clubs, festivals and labels across America center queer Black DJs, that history is rarely acknowledged at today’s typical major dance festivals, where straight white men overwhelmingly dominate lineups. As Chicago DJ Derrick Carter put it in 2014: “Something that started as gay Black/Latino club music is now sold, shuffled and packaged as having very little to do with either.”
“Being a queer artist, being from Canada and of Haitian descent — he’s an outsider in every respect,” explains Def Jam Records CEO Tunji Balogun, who says it was a “no-brainer” to sign Kaytranada to RCA when he was vp there. “But he’s still redefining what an electronic DJ is supposed to look and sound like.”
There’s a dexterity to Kaytranada’s interdisciplinary output that offers multiple points of entry into his work. “I always tell people Kay has three parts to his career: He’s a DJ, he’s a producer and he’s an artist,” says Robillard Cole. “Obviously, that’s not something that’s super common in the music business, and to run a career that has three parts, we’ve had to put in just as much work on the producer side as the DJ side and as much work on the artist side as the producer side. It’s all about strategic partnerships and relationships.”
Those different but connected roles have singularly situated Kaytranada in the dance world. He’s the rare artist who can release a hip-hop record on Friday, then DJ Electric Daisy Carnival on Saturday, as he did in May; someone who’s big enough to headline dance festivals but still eager to work with niche and emerging artists. “He’s either the biggest pop star in the underground or the best-kept secret in the pop world,” Balogun says. “He has dual citizenship. I think he’s becoming that go-to DJ that a pop star will call to freshen up a song, but he’s also still in the trap.”
When Balogun began following Kaytranada online after the latter released his sample-heavy 2013 mixtape, Kaytra Todo, on Jakarta Records, he at first didn’t even register him as a dance artist because he was “on some futuristic hip-hop sh-t. He definitely reminded me of a J Dilla descendant.” Today, he sees Kaytranada as a bridge, someone whose intersections connect music lovers across genres, cultures and generations, like introducing younger listeners to influences such as Madlib and J Dilla — legendary producers who themselves sat at the intersection of hip-hop and dance music and informed Kaytranada’s approach for Kaytraminé — or collaborators like Teedra Moses. (His remix of her 2004 song “Be Your Girl” has far surpassed the original in streams.)
While Kaytranada has intentionally operated “on the outer realm of the industry,” as Robillard Cole puts it, going forward, “the goal is to be the biggest dance artist in the world,” he says, “but [while] staying true to himself. Never compromising. It’s not a monetary goal for us. It’s more respect and critical acclaim than anything. I always tell people that cream rises to the top. It’s the same with good music.” He’s trying to help Kaytranada build a legacy, and paints the image of 25-year-olds flipping through a vinyl shop in the year 2080, geeking out over a Kaytranada record. “That’s what legacy is,” he says.
Marni top, pants, and blazer, Adieu shoes.
Joelle Grace Taylor
No matter his accolades, some professional moments still send Kaytranada spiraling into self-doubt — he’s a Virgo after all, and identifies with the sign’s perfectionist tendencies. But he has increasingly come to understand his value. When I ask him if the remix of “CUFF IT” he premiered at Coachella will ever be released, he shrugs. Parkwood Entertainment, he explains, approached his team about the remix and sent him the vocal stems, but he disagreed with the terms of the proposed contract. (Negotiations are still pending; Parkwood did not respond to requests for comment.) He looks visibly disappointed. He worked hard on the remix and knows it would mean a lot to release it, both to the culture — when Beyoncé’s 2022 album, Renaissance, deeply indebted to house and disco trailblazers, won the Grammy for best dance/electronic album, she thanked “the queer community for your love and for inventing the genre” in her acceptance speech — and to his own career. But he also seems resolute.
“I know my worth. I know they reached out to me to do the remix for a reason, and then to be treated back like I wasn’t all that, it’s kind of weird,” he says. “I’m going to keep it at that. I know my worth.”
A different remix jump-started Kaytranada’s career over 10 years ago: his high-octane club rework of Janet Jackson’s “If,” which sounded like the singer had fallen into a vortex. He worked on the song all night in his bedroom after attending a Flying Lotus show in Montreal, inspired by the producer’s ability to fuse electronic elements with hip-hop. Under the moniker Kaytradamus, he uploaded the remix to SoundCloud at 5 a.m. before passing out.
This was in 2012, when SoundCloud was an influential hub for experimental dance music, and Kaytranada woke up that afternoon to an avalanche of notifications. He recalls peering at his phone and thinking, “What the hell is this?” before going back to sleep, too frazzled to comprehend the attention.
Offers to DJ started trickling in, including an invitation from Robillard Cole to play in Halifax, Nova Scotia, where he was a business student at Saint Mary’s University, in January 2013. (It was the first time Kaytranada flew on an airplane since immigrating to Canada from Haiti as a child.) “I just never heard music like his before — ever,” he says. “The way he puts synths together, his basslines; everything was slightly offbeat.” After the gig, Robillard Cole asked Kaytranada if he had a manager, promising that he could double his rate at the time to $300 a set. He started organizing Kaytranada’s first tour from his accounting class.
Because touring in America required visas, they went to Europe instead. Their budget was $7,000 Canadian, which meant sharing hotel rooms and traveling by bus. The venues were small; Robillard Cole recalls Kaytranada DJ’ing in a jerk chicken restaurant in Manchester, England. But the risks — which included Kaytranada and Robillard Cole eventually dropping out of high school and business school, respectively — paid off. The tour got Kaytranada in front of influential people in the music industry, which led to his 2014 signing with XL Records, the storied British label that has been home to Radiohead, M.I.A. and Arca.
The deal let Kaytranada expand his clout in Europe, which at the time was more receptive to his music. (The United States is currently his biggest market.) It also helped connect him with bigger collaborators for his debut album, 99.9%, which features artists like Vic Mensa, AlunaGeorge and Craig David. “It was a super-big blessing to be signed with XL back then,” says Robillard Cole, “and we just did it as a one-off, which to this day is one of the best decisions [we’ve] ever made because it allowed us to come over to America and sign with RCA Records next and really grow commercially.”
Dries Van Noten suit, Ferragamo shoes, Acne Studios eyewear.
Joelle Grace Taylor
Kaytranada came out in The Fader in 2016, shortly before the release of 99.9%. To his surprise, he found that as his career started to grow, so did his unhappiness, and he recalls thinking, “I’ve got to come out, or I’m going to go crazy.” “At the time, it was just to confirm to myself and to my brain and to the world that I am indeed gay, because I was gay all my life but I definitely suppressed it,” he says. “Growing up with a lot of kids who are just like, ‘Being gay is hell naw.’ In Haiti, hell naw. You cannot be gay.”
Though his anxiety spiked pre-publication, “his whole mentality and energy changed as soon as that article came out,” says his brother, rapper Lou Phelps. “Like he felt more free. He would be less reserved, less shy with the family.”
Though his success has played an important part in realigning mainstream dance music with its gay Black roots, Kaytranada doesn’t necessarily frame his impact in those terms. He recalls learning about dance music’s history in his early 20s through Maestro, the 2003 documentary about DJ culture featuring luminaries like Frankie Knuckles and Larry Levan, and thinking, “Duh — because [house music] sounded very Black,” he says. At the same time, it helped him to better trace his influences; as someone who grew up feeling like “a little weird Black dude” for listening obsessively to acts like Justice and Daft Punk, Kaytranada came to realize that those French electronic artists were themselves borrowing from Black musical genres.
Although he was bullied at his mostly white high school for being small, Black and quiet, kids also regarded him as a tastemaker, someone they approached in the hallways about what they should be listening to — which included everything from Kenyan rock to Linkin Park and the Black Eyed Peas. “I always thought I knew music better than anybody at my school,” he says.
When I ask Kaytranada if he thinks people who come to his shows or participate in dance culture should know about the music’s history, he seems ambivalent. “If you’re into house music, you definitely need to get educated,” he says. “But if you just love the music, that’s cool, too. I don’t really judge when it comes to that.” It’s the kind of noncommittal answer that he tends to give for questions about identity in general, a reticence that suggests he would rather let his work speak for itself. Later, when I ask if he has been able to find gay community in Los Angeles since coming out, he says, “Yes,” then pauses haltingly before acknowledging that he sometimes feels overlooked by the gay community at large for not “proving” that he’s gay enough.
“I thought it was going to be fun,” he says. “[But] it’s like, ‘Oh, you’re not the gay man I thought you was going to be. Oh, your taste is not like my taste. You need to be more gay.’ And that would affect me — but not anymore, because I know I’m really unique at this point. I’m just onto different things.”
Kaytranada photographed on May 11, 2023 at Garibaldina Society in Los Angeles. Commission tank and polo top, Amiri shoes, Martine Ali jewelry, FRED eyewear.
Joelle Grace Taylor
It’s a charge he still seems sensitive about — not being as visibly queer as some other artists — though he insists he’s just being himself, the role model he felt he needed before he came out. Growing up as a hip-hop head, he recalls listening to Mobb Deep’s homophobic lyrics and questioning how he could ever be accepted in the industry. (It might be one reason he always listened to the beats of his favorite rap songs before he delved into the lyrics: “I was always looking at the credits,” he says.)
“Like, how are you going to accept a gay producer?” he recalls thinking. “That was not seen at the time. It seemed impossible.” Mainstream representations of gay men sent him into an identity crisis. “I couldn’t relate to that. I just couldn’t, and I was like, ‘I cannot be gay,’ because I was not into those things,” he says. “That was really a confusing period of my life.”
He points to Frank Ocean coming out on Tumblr in 2012 as a significant turning point in his own self-acceptance. “It kind of made things more possible,” he says, particularly in the world of R&B and hip-hop. And he knows, at this point, that he has become that person for others, too. “When I came out, a lot of musicians secretly came out to me, saying, ‘The [Fader] article moved me.’ And I was like, ‘Word.’ ”
In person, Kaytranada expresses himself with an ease that’s neither flashy nor restrained. Sitting outside of a restaurant on Melrose Avenue, he’s soft-spoken and reserved, burying his hands in his brown Martine Rose track jacket. But over the course of a couple of hours, he grows looser and more expressive, calling the finger sandwiches he orders “cute” (they are cute) and making casual reference to his boyfriend, a photographer he visited Universal Studios with the day before. (Kaytranada’s still a little shaken up from riding Revenge of the Mummy.) They were friends for a year before they started dating in January, and though he’s trying to implement lessons he learned from his last relationship, namely about boundaries, he says they’re together all the time.
At Billboard’s cover shoot the next day, he lies on the floor in a bright orange crop top, balancing against a fallen chair before ending up on his back in the yogic plow pose, his legs flipped over his head. (He started working out two years ago with the help of a trainer and considers himself a “gym rat” now.) Later, he struts out of the dressing room wearing a black suit with a pink wrap around his waist, steps up onto a table and poses like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, his right pointer finger directed skyward. He breaks into a grin as the camera flashes.
Kaytranada’s hands are studded with rings, including the two he bought the night before he won two Grammys. He’s still kicking himself for not superstitiously buying another one before this year’s ceremony, when he was nominated for best dance/electronic recording for “Intimidated,” his silky-smooth collaboration with H.E.R. (He lost — to Beyoncé.) “I bought chains instead,” he says. “I ended up f–king up.”
Kaytranada photographed on May 11, 2023 at Garibaldina Society in Los Angeles.
Joelle Grace Taylor
Recognition from the Recording Academy, he explains, was never the goal. “My idols, the people I looked up to, they never really had Grammys, so it was whatever. But being nominated, it’s a whole different thing. It kind of alters what you’re aiming for.” Now, he says, he’s “trying to make Grammy-winning albums.”
He gave his two trophies to his mother. They are on display in his childhood home, on top of the piano he grew up playing. The awards feel symbolic, not only of his success as an artist, but as a son. Dropping out of high school was a sore spot for his mother, who didn’t see how music could be a viable career. “When I won a Grammy, it really felt like I graduated or something. Like, I have something that means a lot,” he says. “Your name is in history forever.”
In the beginning, when his parents failed to understand what he did, Kaytranada would show them a documentary about The Neptunes to help demonstrate. But “they understood the Grammys — we had a compilation Grammy CD,” he says, grinning. There was no explanation needed.
“I just want to be remembered as one of the greats in terms of producing, not only dance and electronic but also just production in general,” Kaytranada says. He has his wish list of artists he would still love to work with, but says his dream collaboration would be to produce an entire album for a pop star looking to rebrand his or her sound, similar to how Timbaland reoriented Justin Timberlake’s style when he produced 2006’s FutureSex/LoveSounds. He throws out Justin Bieber’s name as an example. “It’s a matter of longevity, too — and, you know, just happiness. Like, as long as you’re comfortable and you’re happy with your life, that’s a form of success — but don’t forget the money part.”
I ask him if he’s happy, and his voice goes up an octave. “Yes, I’m happy!” he says somewhat apprehensively, as if to acknowledge the corniness of the question, or maybe its impossibility, before dropping back down to his normal register. “I’m saying that looking away, but naw, I’m really happy.” He laughs, then tries one more time: “I’m definitely the happiest I’ve been.”
This story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.
In February, when Kaytranada’s stage manager, Tamir Schlanger, texted him to ask if he had a vision for his Coachella performance, the artist responded with screenshots of the giant metallic head from The Wiz, the 1978 musical film featuring Michael Jackson and Diana Ross. He wondered: Could Schlanger replicate it, but with his own head? […]
Maren Morris downs a shot of tequila with a wince. “I love that we’re taking shots and then saying, ‘OK, so let’s talk about Ron DeSantis,’ ” Morris says with a chuckle.
The four drag luminaries she’s toasting with today — Eureka O’Hara, Landon Cider, Sasha Colby and Symone — grimace through their own post-shot puckers at the mention of the Florida governor’s (and now, presidential hopeful’s) name. It’s an otherwise cheerful weekday in Los Angeles: Pop jams ranging from ABBA to Doja Cat play in the background as the quintet gabs gleefully about everything from Three’s Company to O’Hara’s adorable dachshund puppy, Princess Pink, who makes occasional appearances nearby.
But the shadow of the world outside can’t stay beyond this room for long. The mention of DeSantis — who recently signed a batch of anti-LGBTQ+ bills into law that collectively amount to a full attack on the civil rights of queer and trans people in Florida — is just one reminder that in 2023 alone, over 450 bills targeting LGBTQ+ rights have been introduced by right-wing politicians into state legislatures across the country, according to the American Civil Liberties Union. That’s more than double the amount of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation introduced in the same legislative session in 2022.
The five assembled today frequently, and fervently, use their respective individual platforms to speak against such attacks on the LGBTQ+ community. O’Hara, Cider, Colby and Symone are alums (and, in a few cases, winners) of some of TV’s most beloved drag reality shows, like RuPaul’s Drag Race and The Boulet Brothers’ Dragula. Morris, who’s moderating today’s discussion, has made a name for herself not only as one of country music’s brightest stars, but as an outspoken advocate — both onstage and off — for queer and trans people, calling out their mistreatment in the music industry and beyond.
The legislation leveled against those communities spans a wide range of issues — censoring discussions of gender and sexuality in public schools, banning best-practice medical care for transgender youth (and in some instances for adults, too), eliminating nondiscrimination protections for the LGBTQ+ community. And another type of legislation has quickly captured national attention: so-called “drag bans.” In March, Tennessee became the first state to pass a bill into law prohibiting “adult cabaret” performances (the definition of which includes “male or female impersonators”) in public or in the presence of minors.
“It’s just now becoming public knowledge how horrible it is there,” says O’Hara, who grew up in Tennessee, her voice quivering. “It’s scary to be trans today and to be a drag queen.” Colby puts it simply: “It’s about controlling queer kids.”
After the state’s ban sparked a legal battle with Memphis-based theater company Friends of George’s, a federal judge temporarily blocked the law. Then, on June 2, U.S. District Judge Thomas Parker ruled that the law violates performers’ First Amendment rights and deemed it unconstitutional. The ruling prevents the law from taking effect in Tennessee’s Shelby County and creates potential for further legal challenges elsewhere in the state. Tennessee Attorney General Jonathan Skrmetti has already said that he plans to appeal the ruling to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Sixth Circuit.
“This ruling is a turning point, and we will not go back,” said GLAAD president/CEO Sarah Kate Ellis in a statement. “Every anti-LGBTQ elected official is on notice that these baseless laws will not stand and that our constitutional freedom of speech and expression protects everyone and propels our culture forward.”
But LGBTQ+ advocates in Tennessee point out that, overturned or not, the law’s initial passage still accomplished one goal: creating a culture of confusion and fear surrounding self-expression in the state. Due to the intentional vagueness of the law, its enforcement would come down to individual interpretation, sparking hypothetical questions like, “If Harry Styles comes and does a concert at Bridgestone Arena in Nashville and has on a frilly shirt or a skirt or a dress…” posits Morris. “What do we do then? In a place like Tennessee, it’s obviously really meant to fearmonger.”
Maren Morris in drag as Willie Nelson photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Laura Polko at PRTNRS. Makeup by Diane Buzzetta at Blended Strategy. Drag Makeup Consulting by Landon Cider. Manicure by Queenie Nguyen at Nailing Hollywood. Styling by Dani Michelle at The Only Agency. Vintage shirt and bolo tie, Our Legacy jeans, Nick Fouquet hat.
Munachi Osegbu
At least 15 other states, including Arizona, Arkansas, Florida, Missouri, North Carolina and Texas, are either considering or have already passed legislation similar to Tennessee’s drag ban — and that’s creating an impending sense of dread that keeps the drag stars and Morris fired up. “If you don’t want to go to a drag show, don’t go to a drag show. If you don’t want to have your kids at a drag show, don’t take your kids to a drag show. But don’t put that on us!” Symone exclaims. Cider nods in agreement. “The only part of ‘grooming’ that I’m doing,” he says, “is grooming kids to find joy in their authentic selves.”
Maren Morris: How have you been coming to terms with the number of anti-LGBTQ+ bills passing through the state legislatures around the country? I live in Tennessee, and I feel like that’s unfortunately at the forefront for a lot of them.
Symone: I don’t think I’ve come to terms with it; I think I’ve just realized that I am in a rage about it. Growing up, it wasn’t like it is now, and it’s frustrating to see all this hate, this vitriol for people who just spread love and only want to be seen and accepted. I cannot believe in 2023 we’re here. Especially after doing the respective [TV] shows that we’ve done and being embraced over all these years, for it to feel like such a backlash is insane to me. I won’t come to terms with it because we deserve everything that you think that we don’t deserve.
Morris: Have you seen it affect your own bookings or your friends’ bookings?
Sasha Colby: Right now, being in gigs with the other season 15 [Drag Race] girls, I feel like in our group chats we’re all very much on high alert and asking our friends, like Aura [Mayari] who’s in Tennessee, “How is it?” I think everyone’s just being very cautious.
Drag is so popular right now [because] it’s hitting a nerve with people, both good and bad. The bad is that they see how good we’re doing and how happy we’re making people and how out of the matrix we are. Kids are coming! It’s not grooming, it’s just making space for them to be themselves.
Landon Cider: When we were hiding and forced to create secret spaces, we found community. We were bonding and forging these relationships in this underground culture. Now that it’s celebrated in the mainstream, it backfired. It’s thrown in our face. We didn’t force it to be mainstream! They did!
Colby: We weren’t allowed in cis spaces. We weren’t allowed to be anything but outcasts. And then we share it with the world, and they just want to colonize our thoughts as well as everything else.
Symone: I think it does scare them because of the kids. The kids are seeing us, and they grow up saying, “Well, why would I need to be anything other than this?” That is scary for people who are not of this generation and who grew up a different way.
Sasha Colby photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Jazlyn Simons. Makeup by James Michael Perez. Michael Ngo custom bodysuit, gloves, and boots.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: There is not a “one size fits all” conveyor belt of parenting; everyone has a different thing. Saying that this is all “adult” — some drag is, absolutely! But I’ve seen the Mrs. Doubtfire reference made a lot, where it’s hilarious if it’s a cis [straight] male in drag. Then it’s OK for the kids to see, but God forbid you see someone truly expressing themselves, entertaining and just being free.
Eureka O’Hara: It’s OK if it’s a joke. But we take this seriously — this gives us inspiration and life. I come from East Tennessee, and I went through all of this times 10 living there. It makes me so mad — I have a trans Black sister who just moved in with me a few months ago, and she’s finally doing OK after 19 years of being abused. And that’s what this is.
You all know it’s not about drag. Let’s be real. These [are] scare tactics, and it just gets me so emotional. It’s about how we express ourselves, and it’s about the youth — because we have the queerest youth we’ve ever had right now. And that’s what they’re mad about. These kids are learning about who they are before they’re 18, 25, 30 years old and still have to deal with abuse like this.
Colby: The whole thing with being trans is they sexualize us. It’s funny when it’s a joke, but as soon as they sexualize us, then they’re going to want to control, like how they do with cisgender women, how they do with kids.
Cider: They’re projecting their own hatred and fear of their own community and their own small “safe” spaces.
Morris: What’s that saying? “Every threat from them is an actual admission.”
Colby: Exactly. It’s always them showing their cards.
Symone: I also just want to put out there that people may think now that it’s just the drag queens, it’s just trans people. But if they can do it to them, then they can do it to anybody else. Don’t think that just because they’re attacking us right now that y’all are going to be somehow exempt from it. We’re just the easiest targets. Just look at history.
That’s another thing that I cannot stand — the misinformation. Know what you’re speaking about, know what you’re saying before you speak. You don’t have to like a trans person. But don’t say things that you don’t know anything about. Educate yourself. Don’t put your stuff on somebody else. What did Madonna say? “Don’t hang your sh-t on me.”
Cider: Don’t push your legislature to take control and tell other people what they can or cannot do [with their bodies]. Usually, it is religious reasons why they’re doing all of this because their beliefs are binary. When we have this particular religious control, they want to put fearmongering into what has been celebrated because they don’t understand it.
Eureka O’Hara photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Jaymes Mansfield. Makeup by Loris Volkle. Marco Marco custom dress.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: The fact is, they don’t have solutions for actual problems — this is their niche thing that they get to go off on. I’m from Texas, I live in Tennessee, and I do love the community I have there, but these bills almost incentivize us to turn on one another. They’re rewarding us to turn each other in, which feels kind of like a Nazi Germany thing where we turn on our own communities.
Colby: And they call it “patriotism.”
Morris: With drag being more popular than ever right now, how do you think it ultimately influences pop culture?
Colby: We used to be a mirror — like in the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s, we would mirror pop culture. Now we get to be pop culture. We are who celebrities, designers, artists want to work with or are inspired by.
O’Hara: Obviously, there’s so much bad that comes from the hatred and the discrimination. But to have it be publicly talked about and having these discussions — like, how many celebrities have stood up for drag lately?
Cider: It’s interesting because it’s kind of the flip for me. As a drag king, I don’t see myself and my version of my art form celebrated the way that the art of drag queens is. So it’s bittersweet because I see my sisters being catapulted into this stardom, and I’m so excited and happy for all of them. But when are we going to understand that kings have been around for just as long, if not longer, in some cultures? Sexism and misogyny take over a lot, and that’s why trans women have been hidden in secret, too; it’s that same misogyny, the same sexism.
I am not trans, but when I see my trans siblings getting attacked… If you attack one of us, you attack all of us. And it’s the same when I see my siblings being celebrated — you celebrate one of us, you celebrate all of us. So I’m celebrating them, but I’m still waiting for us to be recognized and fully embraced. We see masculinity celebrated on the runway on RuPaul’s Drag Race all the time — in the Snatch Game or Victoria [Scone] and Mo Heart doing these very masculine looks — but we still don’t see kings.
O’Hara: You talked about the sexism and misogyny — it’s also the heteronormative culture of “Men are men, women are women,” and seeing a drag king is probably even harder for them to see.
Colby: Because they don’t know how to sexualize and objectify you.
O’Hara: Tea!
Morris: Piggybacking on that, these bills are so vague in their language that it’s intentionally hard to know where the line is between what is drag and what is not, and it’s obviously really meant to eradicate the existence of trans people. I mean, even a lot of these [male] country artists wear tighter jeans than I do.
Colby: And have bigger highlights! But that’s the thing: All the beauty in country music is always so good.
Landon Cider photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Wigs By Vanity. Makeup by Landon Cider. Fontasia L’Amour suit, ORTTU shirt.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: It’s elevated, right? Dolly Parton famously said that if she wasn’t Dolly, she would be a drag queen. Especially when I’m going into glam for an event, I’m looking at a lot of y’all’s photos. Like, talk about culture and impact — it affects me, too! I want to sit and be beat for the gods! Even that language — I just said something that was totally born out of this community. I exist in this space of country music, where you don’t have to do much to be seen as a brave voice, unfortunately.
Symone: And that’s why it’s so important for you to be here, because country music — and I’ll also add in rap and hip-hop here — those genres need people to come out and say something more than any other [genre] because those are the ones that are the most heteronormative.
Colby: And they have a lot of people’s ears in America. They are two of the most listened-to genres in the country.
Symone: For you to be here and say those things is so important — we need all our divas. We need you to love us now.
Morris: Are there any specific examples of good, helpful allyship that you’ve seen from artists in the last few years?
Cider: Aside from you, I look at somebody like Lizzo and the show she did in Nashville recently [with drag performers].
Symone: Yes, completely. If you’re going to Tennessee this summer for touring, get the girls up there. Get some kings up there, too!
Colby: The local girls, too, because the local performers are the ones in danger here, especially in these small towns with a lot of drag. I’ve noticed that a lot of small Southern towns have these safe spaces for queer people, and they are the ones who are going to feel the impact of all this legislation first. We get to be the face and the voice and try to do our best, but it’s these small towns that we really have to be concerned about.
Symone photographed on May 9, 2023 in Los Angeles. Hair by Gigi Goode. Makeup by RYLIE. Marko Monroe custom dress.
Munachi Osegbu
Morris: For anyone who may be reading this, what can people do to help?
Symone: Vote. That’s first and foremost.
O’Hara: Go to these organizations that work with lobbyists to watch out for the progression of these bills. Because it’s not just at a state and national level that we’re being harmed. It’s the small community governments, it’s the city governments, it’s these local places. We have organizations like ACLU and places of that nature, every state has those lobbyists — the Tennessee Transgender Political Coalition would be a great one for anyone to donate to. Of course you have to vote, but we scream that all day every day. It’s not just about voting for the president.
A lot of times, I think the most important thing is to take care of the people around you who aren’t being looked after. Talk to the quiet queer kids that look scared, that aren’t being social. Go befriend the people that don’t look happy. Stop being mean girls, and that goes for gay people, too. Step up and be there for each other, for someone other than yourself and the people who make you feel cool.
Cider: Be an active ally when it matters. If you’ve shared a smile, a laugh, a memory with a queer person, don’t let that memory hide in the closet. Take that memory where it counts — to your pulpits, to your family reunions, to the locker rooms, to the places where you know you’re going to get sh-t on for speaking out for us. That’s where it matters the most because maybe it’ll open some eyes.
Colby: I always tell my cis-het friends who have children, “You don’t have to go to every protest and stand on your soapbox. What you do have control over is the kids you created. All you can do is leave this world a little better than you left it. Make those kids allies.”
Morris: Is there anything y’all want to ask me?
Cider: You’re using your platform beautifully already, and we appreciate you, we thank you for everything. But it’s also not a hard thing to do, to be an ally and to use your platform in the way that you do. How would you encourage your peers to do the same?
Morris: I have heard the term “Shut up and sing” more times than I can count — that’s always the cutesy little threat that they like to make. So I would say to my peers who are artists and to record-label heads, publishers, songwriters: I don’t think any of us got into this art form to be an activist, but that’s ultimately thrust upon you to exist in this space and to feel like you can sleep at night. You’re going to lose fans along the way — that is just part and parcel of being public-facing. But there is a lane that you’re widening; I see it year over year at my shows, the crowd feels so diverse and so safe. I know everyone likes money, but is it worth your biography saying that you never picked a side because both sides pay money to buy a T-shirt?
This story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.
I grew up being a huge country music fan, especially of people like The Chicks. Watching their career spiral in such a ridiculous, unfair way was always in my mind — it doesn’t leave your brain once you witness these idols of yours being so unfairly criticized and their careers, at least at the time, ending just for exercising their rights. There is this pressure to stay silent in country music, I think, because of what happened to The Chicks. Artists just look at it like, “It’s good for business to shut the f–k up.” And that just never really sat well with me.
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I think that’s why I’ve become a little bit of a rebellious adolescent in country. In some ways, there’s good in that; you want things to be better, you want everyone to be on the same page, you want everyone to be equally treated. There’s this passion there. But there’s also that sort of insanity and delusion of thinking you can do it all yourself. It’s ridiculous and kind of an almost white savior complex way of thinking: “I’m going to change it all from the inside — me, myself and I.” I’ve had to really take a step back and realize how to not center myself in this conversation every f–king time.
There’s always going to be this nugget of ego in all of us, but I think particularly for someone that looks like me, the education of the last few years has been to shut up and listen to those who are living these horrors every day. I’m shutting up to listen to people that are smarter than me. I am not some torch-carrying savior of country music.
I have not been pulled from the radio — at least not as a reaction to my actions. I’ve certainly lost fans along the way. But I think that’s sort of like spring cleaning. I don’t want to make three albums and go away forever; this is it for me. I don’t love anything else as much as I love performing and writing songs. So, with the effects of the “punishment phase” of speaking out, I couldn’t give a sh-t because I’m going to be doing this for the long haul. You lose some people along the way, but you solidify those that you had from the get-go.
The way the country music industry has treated LGBTQ people has been awful — there’s been almost no representation. There are people like Ty Herndon, who wasn’t able to come out until he was basically not in the industry anymore. But there is progress being made: T.J. Osborne, one of my closest friends, came out a couple years ago, and there’s such support behind him because it’s like, “Yeah, it doesn’t matter.”
In my career, I have been pretty clear with my values and putting my money where my mouth is, and over time, I’ve achieved a larger audience. So to anyone who’s a juggernaut of the industry or to new artists just trying to break right into this: I have worked bit by bit to build my business to where it is. When you speak out or you show up to a rally, you’re going to gain fans and you’re going to lose fans. Even if it’s for a piece of legislation that’s going to affect people’s bodily autonomy, or their way of making a living, or who they can marry, it is going to be political to the other side. You’re going to lose some people, but you’ll also gain some that never looked in your direction before. On a moral level, as a fan, wouldn’t it be so nice to know that you’re paying for a ticket or a T-shirt of somebody that isn’t a sh–ty person? Being inclusive is good for business because you open yourself up to the world.
When I was a guest judge on Drag Race, I did feel like I just wanted to speak from my heart and apologize [for country music’s treatment of the LGBTQ community] as an artist that comes from the genre. I felt like country music in some ways gets overlooked in that community because they rightfully assume it’s not a welcoming community. No “sorry” is going to undo the decades of harm that the country music industry has done to LGBTQ people in terms of representation. I was trying to say that there’s a lot of good people in this genre, and I hope that you don’t write it off forever because of what some artists said on their stage.
We live really close to the Covenant School [where a mass shooting took place in March], and that feeling of being swallowed by this grief, as a mother, has been really tough. My heart is just broken every day, having to pass the entrance of that school. But weirdly, I have never felt more connected to this town than in the last two months. When I went to one of the protests after the shooting, I saw mothers that I’ve had wine and disagreements with, and everyone was so emotionally raw at that moment. It’s awful that it took something so horrible to make that happen, but something in me switched, and I felt like, “I’m really lucky to live here right now.” Community like that is happening on the battlegrounds of these protests. It all comes back to the community that you’ve got to go out and build for yourself. It’s not going to come to you.
And there really is no community like here in Nashville. I’ve heard other songwriters from other places say they’ve been to L.A., they’ve been to New York, they’ve done writing trips abroad, but there’s just something different about Nashville. My heart is country music, and it’s writing songs that are stories, and it’s the collaboration of Nashville writing. It’s a lot harder to try and start over in some other way. I’ve just decided that you have to till the soil you’re on. Don’t get into the greener pastures complex.
For myself, I’m getting out of the sort of game of being the hall monitor of country music, even if I’m probably setting myself up for failure. Everything I’ve done has not been in vain; I’ve been so bowled over by the acceptance and positivity from the LGBTQ community. But I feel like I cannot look at the bad apples anymore. I’m done giving into what they want, which is attention. I think the whole “When they go low, we go high” thing is applicable here. Sometimes I fall into that trap of saying, “No, beat them at their own game. Sink to their level because they don’t operate on the high road.” There’s absolutely truth to that, and sometimes, yeah, you need to ruffle some feathers and not do this whole “Kumbaya” hand-holding thing. But clapping back on Twitter and expecting a different result doesn’t work for me anymore. I’m going to look to where the people are helping and just Mister Rogers this b-tch. —AS TOLD TO STEPHEN DAW
This story will appear in the June 10, 2023, issue of Billboard.