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How do you think my life has been these past few months?” Shaboozey asks with a wry smile.
The 29-year-old multihyphenate artist — one of 2024’s biggest breakout acts — has twisted my question and flipped it back on me, his measured poker face masking the tornado of emotions he’s feeling. There’s no hiding that he’s tired; we’re speaking the day after September’s MTV Video Music Awards, where he snagged two nods (including best new artist), and its star-studded afterparty, where he mingled with the likes of Taylor Swift and Sabrina Carpenter. Some hours later, he went to Brooklyn for his Billboard cover shoot, soundtracked by Zach Bryan and Chris Stapleton. Now we’re grabbing lunch in a hotel restaurant, where Shaboozey has finally settled down with a half-dozen Prince Edward Island oysters and some fries.
The VMAs were just the latest marquee moment in a year full of the kind of highlights most artists dream of achieving over their entire careers. A year in which his appearances on Beyoncé’s culture-shifting Cowboy Carter (on “Spaghettii” and “Sweet * Honey * Buckiin’ ”) were just the beginning of his string of feats. A year when Shaboozey went from a supporting stint on a Jessie Murph tour to his own headlining North American tour. A year when his own “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” notched a historic 12 weeks atop the Billboard Hot 100. And a year that could still get even bigger if “A Bar Song” gets likely-looking Grammy nominations for record and song of the year; or if the album it’s on, the Billboard chart-topping Where I’ve Been, Isn’t Where I’m Going, gets album of the year and best country album nods; or if Shaboozey himself contends for best new artist.
At his core, Shaboozey (or Boozey, to his friends) exudes the calm cool of a rebel who always knew his outside-the-lines plan would lead him to glory. Still, America’s favorite new cowboy admits that he doesn’t always “feel prepared for this stuff. You just kind of get thrown in it.”
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With “A Bar Song” — which has racked up over 771 million official on-demand U.S. streams, according to Luminate — Shaboozey became the first bona fide Black outlaw country star, a status he has been working toward achieving for a decade. The son of Nigerian immigrants, the artist born Collins Obinna Chibueze grew up just outside Woodbridge, Va., the second of four children. Though he spent two years at boarding school in Nigeria, Shaboozey spent most of his childhood in Virginia, including his high school years, when his football coach’s misspelling of his surname evolved into his nickname and now-stage name.
“It could be a little confusing at times,” he says of growing up Nigerian American in Woodbridge, a Washington, D.C., exurb that was markedly more rural in his youth than it is today. “Hearing your name [mispronounced] during attendance was always a thing; you felt like you had to make it easier for everyone else to understand.” Most Black children of immigrants know such experiences (microaggressions, really) well, and some are also familiar with another phenomenon that marked Shaboozey’s childhood: the endless words of support from parents who understood the importance of reminding their children of their power in a society actively trying to strip them of it. “If I’m going to do anything,” Shaboozey — whose surname means “God is king” in Igbo — pledges today, “I’m going to make sure I’m damn good at it.”
Vintage t-shirt, Wales Bonner pants.
Eric Ryan Anderson
Growing up in Virginia — the home of all-time greats like Patsy Cline and Missy Elliott — also meant that Shaboozey was always aware of the intersections between diverse music genres and styles. But first and foremost, he rooted himself in his father’s playlists, where he encountered country legends Don Williams and Kenny Rogers. As a kid, “outside of MTV and BET, I wasn’t getting the specific names of the artists my parents played around the house and spoke about,” Shaboozey says. “It was all just music to me.”
He didn’t just latch on to the music his father played — he was also enamored with the aesthetic of his pop’s old photos. “Every time I saw a picture of him, he was always in Wranglers. He always gave ‘young country guy,’ ” Shaboozey recalls. From Wrestlemania to Westerns, American culture and its archetypes are exported to, and emulated in, nearly every corner of the globe. Still, most media about cowboys disproportionately features white men, which can feel incongruous to those who feel connected to cowboy culture’s actually multicultural history — and it’s for those people whom Shaboozey wanted to create a unique soundtrack.
At 19, Shaboozey moved to Los Angeles — his first time truly living beyond Virginia — with the goal of writing scripts, making movies and recording music. Shortly after, in 2014, he scored his first quasi-viral moment with his piano-trap banger “Jeff Gordon.” (Shaboozey is a big NASCAR fan.) Around that time, he was also delving into the catalogs of rock icons like AC/DC and The Rolling Stones, indoctrinating himself into the school of Prince and studying the folk roots of Bob Dylan and John Prine.
“In that [period of] discovery, I found country music to be the thing that resonated with me in a really strong way,” he says. “Me being from Virginia, me loving the style and the way of life and the things they talked about. It all seemed very peaceful. It seemed like I could be real.” Even more importantly, Shaboozey began to realize that Lil Wayne and Rogers could be complementary, not opposing, influences. Finally, he understood: “This is who I am.”
When Shaboozey first tried to launch a country album, the project bricked. Two years before the release of his 2018 debut album, Lady Wrangler, he had joined forces with writer-producer Nevin Sastry for Wrangler — which remains shelved to this day.
Shaboozey and Sastry met in 2016, and their connection was so strong and immediate that within a month, Shaboozey moved into Sastry’s apartment. Before completing the “more rap-adjacent” Lady Wrangler, Shaboozey decided to put Wrangler to the side because “something in my head told me, ‘The world ain’t ready for this,’ ” he says. In a sense, he was right. Lady Wrangler (released on Republic Records) arrived in the aftermath of “Daddy Lessons,” Beyoncé’s first country music foray that was rejected by the Recording Academy’s country music committee for the 2017 Grammys and that she performed with The Chicks at the 50th annual Country Music Association (CMA) Awards, one of the most controversial moments in the event’s history; and a few months before Lil Nas X and Billy Ray Cyrus rewrote the rules of country, pop and hip-hop with 2019’s “Old Town Road.”
“The rap we looked at on TV was always glamorized,” Shaboozey recalls. “That wasn’t the reality for everybody. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t write music in that world. I found country music could teach people that the little things in life are where the value is. Just having a working truck that you can take your girl in to ride to a cliff and watch the sunset is enough.”
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Eric Ryan Anderson
Sastry and Shaboozey have now collaborated on all three of the star’s full-length projects, but it was 2017’s “Winning Streak,” a woozy trap fantasia gilded in Western aesthetics, that helped Shaboozey land a deal with Republic and release Lady Wrangler. The label dropped Shaboozey following that album’s release (Shaboozey is tight-lipped as to why; Republic did not respond to a request for comment by press time), and soon after, the coronavirus pandemic changed the path of his life. In 2020, Shaboozey met Abas Pauti while playing basketball with mutual friends; after the two got to know each other, Pauti immediately offered to move across the country once Shaboozey told him that Virginia was the place he “needs to be in order to be the artist he wants to be” — a display of commitment that inspired the then-budding star to make Pauti his manager.
They remained in L.A., and by the following year, Shaboozey signed to indie label EMPIRE — which had previously worked with Black country artists like Billboard chart-topper Kane Brown — after a successful pitch from Eric Hurt, vp of A&R publishing, Nashville, at the company. “We understood what he was trying to do and we loved it, but obviously, it wasn’t anything that was out at the moment,” EMPIRE president Tina Davis says of her first impression of Shaboozey and his music. “It’s a feeling you get when artists on a [certain] level come into your presence. It’s kind of like the air goes out of the room. His presence was so full and prominent, I knew he was going to go somewhere.”
Standing at around 6 feet 4 with broad shoulders and lengthy wicks, Shaboozey is a dark-skinned Black man who wears his racial identity with pride. He’s a magnetic presence in any room he enters, though not in a domineering way. But his often stoic face can conceal the “manic, creative energy,” as Sastry puts it, that lies behind it — which he harnessed to finesse his sound and style going into his second and third albums.
On Cowboys Live Forever, Shaboozey joined forces with rising producer Sean Cook (one of the talents behind Paul Russell’s “Lil Boo Thang”), with whom he wrote three songs in three days. “In the studio, he likes to ride on music,” explains Cook, who later co-produced “A Bar Song.” “Sometimes he’ll get on the mic and I’ll loop the guitar, and he’ll freestyle melodies and conceptualize lyrics. Other times, he’ll sit in the booth and write the song as he goes; on the newest album, he actually brought in some guitar ideas himself.” With Cowboys Live Forever, Shaboozey intensified his country bent and enhanced his narrative-driven, cinematic soundscapes that straddle hip-hop and Americana-steeped country.
That genre-agnostic approach culminated with “A Bar Song (Tipsy),” 2024’s longest-running Hot 100 No. 1. Written and recorded in November 2023, near the end of the Where I’ve Been sessions, “A Bar Song” — which interpolates J-Kwon’s 2004 smash, “Tipsy,” and was borne out of Shaboozey’s desire to flip an aughts song — didn’t even need a final mix for those who heard it to recognize it as a hit. Pauti, who was in the studio the night Shaboozey recorded the song, immediately texted Jared Cotter, a Range Music partner who joined Team Shaboozey as co-manager in 2022: “We got one.”
For her part, EMPIRE’s Davis was so instantly enthralled by the track that she shifted her attention from getting the album to the finish line to clearing the “Tipsy” interpolation. J-Kwon, whose “Tipsy” reached No. 2 on the Hot 100, was so thrilled with Shaboozey’s country flip of his track that “he was listening to the record for three weeks straight, not clearing it because he thought the song was already out,” as Shaboozey tells it with a glimmer of childlike glee in his eye. Once J-Kwon eventually cleared the track, it primed the path for “A Bar Song” to become the first song by a Black man to simultaneously top Hot Country Songs and Country Airplay — and the longest-running No. 1 debut country single since Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus, Take the Wheel” in 2006.
Although “A Bar Song” dropped after Shaboozey’s dual appearances on Beyoncé’s historic Cowboy Carter, the whistling track was instrumental in helping him secure those coveted features. When Shaboozey performed the then-unreleased song at Range Showcase Night at Winston House in Venice, Calif., in early 2024, the crowd loved it so much that he played it again. According to Cotter and Pauti, in that crowd was one of Beyoncé’s A&R executives, Ricky Lawson, who instantly knew Shaboozey would be perfect for the record Beyoncé was then working on. Shaboozey says he was initially invited only to write on Cowboy Carter; then, Beyoncé asked him to record some verses, one of which included his freestyled outro on “Spaghettii” (with Linda Martell, which peaked at No. 31 on the Hot 100), and he appeared as well on “Sweet * Honey * Buckiin’ ” (No. 61).
The “Beyoncé bump,” as Cotter calls it, spurred Shaboozey’s team to advance the release date of “A Bar Song” a couple of weeks to April 12. “In this world of virality and quick hits, we wanted to be closer [to Cowboy Carter’s release] and be able to capitalize [on the exposure] with what we thought was a hit,” Cotter says. Early in its gargantuan run, “A Bar Song” usurped Beyoncé’s “Texas Hold ’Em” atop Hot Country Songs, making the collaborators the first Black artists to earn back-to-back No. 1s in the chart’s nearly 70-year history.
“It just feels great to see a true talent like Shaboozey win,” a representative from Beyoncé’s Parkwood Entertainment tells Billboard. “He has a clear sense of the artist he always was, and now the world knows it. To see him dominate the country space is a win for all those Black artists who have been authentically honing their craft for a long time now.”
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Eric Ryan Anderson
As “A Bar Song” came to dominate the summer, it continued to help Shaboozey notch major milestones. When he played the BET Awards for the first time in June, J-Kwon joined him for a whimsical, saloon-set mashup of “A Bar Song” and “Tipsy.”
“Traditionally, I feel like country music wasn’t really accepted in that space as much,” says Shaboozey, who became just the second Black male solo country artist to play the BET Awards (after Brown in 2020). “I even felt — whether that’s my own insecurity or [self-judgment] — ‘Is this thing really connecting with people?’ as I’m performing the song. That’s my biggest fear… when I’m feeling out of place in this space. But that’s what I want to do with my music: be disruptive and show people that music is progressing.”
Shaboozey and J-Kwon’s performance was well-received — including by rappers such as Skilla Baby, French Montana and Quavo, all of whom gave him words of support at the show or hit him up in the days following. “I love hip-hop; I’m a part of their community, too,” Shaboozey reiterates — and he’s right.
Shaboozey is as country as he is hip-hop, as evidenced by the featured artists he tapped for Where I’ve Been. While Texas country-rocker Paul Cauthen helps bring the house down on “Last of My Kind” — ESPN’s new Atlantic Coast Conference college football anthem — Dallas rapper BigXthaPlug appears on the fiery hip-hop party track “Drink Don’t Need No Mix.” But while Shaboozey could promote songs from this album that don’t cater to country audiences, he doesn’t currently plan to. “Shaboozey is a country artist — that’s what he’s passionate about,” Cotter stresses. “What we’re seeing across all genres is artists don’t need to be in one box. Shaboozey is the first one that’s genuinely both in hip-hop and country music; he can rap as well as he can sing. We’re definitely going to promote that because it’s who he is. It’s not a new thing that we’re trying.”
“[Shaboozey] is a little bit of everything,” Davis adds. “That’s what separates him from everyone else. I think Taylor Swift shows that you don’t have to stick with one genre — you can try them all and push them all.”
Vintage t-shirt, Huey Lewis denim jacket, Wales Bonner pants and shoes.
Eric Ryan Anderson
But Nashville and its leading industry players have not been so uniformly open-minded regarding Shaboozey’s generally genreless approach, or his appearance. “They kept wondering if other songs were country on his album or if it was just going to be one song and then all of a sudden, he’s a street thug,” Davis recalls. “I think it’s both [his sound and appearance]. Obviously, if you looked at him walking by and he didn’t have a belt buckle and cowboy boots, you’d swear he was doing something different. I think it’s just the stereotype of what people see, but having those conversations and sharing the whole album made things a little bit easier.” While Shaboozey is acutely aware that he’s “definitely a new artist in [the country] space,” he says he now feels embraced by Nashville — and vows that his “next project is going to be even more country, even more dialed in.”
And Shaboozey has made inroads with the country establishment, including at a pair of country music awards shows. He scored 12 nods at the People’s Choice Country Awards and two nominations — new artist and single of the year — at the CMA Awards. At the latter ceremony, Shaboozey is just one of three Black performers to be nominated, alongside Michael Trotter Jr. and Tanya Trotter of The War and Treaty. “There’s a weight that comes with it,” Shaboozey acknowledges, adding that Michael personally called to congratulate him — and also to recognize that “Man, it’s just us.” (Significantly, Beyoncé and Cowboy Carter didn’t receive any CMA nominations. “All I know is that she made a great body of work and I know she’s proud of that,” Shaboozey says of the snubs.)
The crossover success of “A Bar Song” has conjured comparisons to “Old Town Road,” another country-rap joint that ruffled more than a few feathers back in 2019 — and Shaboozey has found kinship with Lil Nas X. “That’s the homie,” says Shaboozey, who connected with Lil Nas at the previous night’s VMAs. “We haven’t had deep conversations, but I can tell what’s happening to me now is probably very similar to what he experienced.”
For Shaboozey, the VMAs were a “fishbowl” experience, where he was aware of outsiders looking at Lil Nas and him, waiting for the two to interact and acknowledge how their stories intersect. “It’s like everyone is like, ‘Do they know?’ ” he quips. And while the VMAs are technically genre-agnostic, Shaboozey did feel a bit of a disconnect with the audience. “Love the VMAs, but sometimes it felt like they weren’t there for me, to be honest,” he says with a droll chuckle, noting how some audience members seemed almost embarrassed to cheer for him after screaming for more top 40-facing pop stars. “But there were more Black folks and people working the event that were showing me love, and that’s what it’s about.”
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Eric Ryan Anderson
He knows, however, that these awards shows are all a prelude to February’s Grammys. In addition to best new artist and record and song of the year for “A Bar Song,” Shaboozey will likely contend for best country song and best country solo performance. Should he take home a trophy in the country field, he would become just the fifth Black act to do so, joining Charley Pride, The Pointer Sisters, Aaron Neville and Darius Rucker, who tells Billboard, “We’re fortunate to have Shaboozey in country music.” Shaboozey’s team confirms that it will submit Where I’m From and its songs in the country field, and the campaign includes stops at “the right looks,” according to Pauti, including The Late Show With Stephen Colbert (where he recently performed his new single, “Highway”), a sit-down interview with Gayle King, an intimate L.A. showcase and meeting Recording Academy CEO Harvey Mason Jr.
“I think it’s something for me to bring home to everybody,” Shaboozey muses about his potential first Grammy wins. “This is the peak of the mountain as far as recognition comes. This is a long-standing ceremony, it’s history and tradition, and hopefully we’re able to take it home. That childhood fear of never winning anything is still there. It would mean the world to win one of these things, but if not, the year we had was crazy. If not now, it’ll come. We in the club now.”
“The Grammys are always going to matter to me,” says EMPIRE founder Ghazi, whose commitment to a genreless future brought him out to Nashville years before he crossed paths with Shaboozey. “From being a 14-year-old making my first records to now being a seasoned executive, I never lost sight of that journey, and the Grammys never [lose their] luster.”
As Shaboozey picks at his final few French fries, I take in the man sitting across the table from me, who, though he’s currently relaxed in the booth of a Brooklyn eatery, has more than a little of a classic gunslinger’s gleam in his eyes. When he picks up his final oyster, it feels nothing short of poetic. A few years ago, it would have been borderline unimaginable to see someone like him at the zenith of country music, yet here he is — reshaping signifiers of so-called authenticity and injecting them with the street-smart swagger of the contemporary hip-hop gangster. A distinctly 21st-century manifestation of the spirit of Marty Robbins, channeled through a voice and persona equally steeped in Stanley Kubrick, Garth Brooks and Juvenile, Shaboozey is a lone star — a true outlaw who has effectively rewritten the rules of a land that’s actually his to reclaim.
And like any genuine outlaw, he never breaks eye contact while making plain his message: “I’m just making music I love,” Shaboozey says. “It’s cool being recognized, but I’m making music for a group of people that are usually underrepresented. I’m going to keep doing that. It’s good to be that guy — those are the people who are remembered.”
This story appears in the Oct. 5, 2024, issue of Billboard.
Check out pics of the “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” hitmaker.
Young Miko is sitting, legs criss-crossed, atop her purple bed, surrounded by bookshelves, a boombox and a big Tamagotchi. A microphone clutched to her chest, she’s visibly emotional, almost teary-eyed.
But she’s not alone in what appears to be her bedroom. On this September evening, she’s onstage at Miami’s Hard Rock Live, and a crowd of 7,000 is chanting the 26-year-old urbano star’s name — even though she hasn’t yet said a word. The bed, the centerpiece of her set, is a reference to the cover art for her latest album, this year’s att. And the satisfaction on her face is a reaction to an anything but private moment. She’s gazing in awe at the crowd of mainly Gen Z girls whose effortlessly chic looks mirror her own Y2K aesthetic — oversize T-shirts, baggy pants, ultra-pink girly ensembles with shimmery makeup and pigtails. Young Miko — clad in a sparkly baby blue checkered two-piece and pristine white sneakers, her hair in her signature slicked-back half ponytail — soaks it all in.
Ruven Afanador
Onstage, Young Miko is graceful and charming, or “very demure, very mindful, very cutesy,” as she jokes in English with her zealous fans, who roar as she flashes them shy, flirtatious smiles. Tonight, she runs through her early hits, like the trap anthem “Lisa,” as well as newer ones, like att.’s “Rookie of the Year,” a song that perfectly captures Young Miko’s rapid rise to fame. She even brings out Colombian star Feid, one of her earliest supporters, to join her for two songs, including their first collaboration, “Classy 101,” with which she made her Billboard Hot 100 debut last year. “Thank you for the love you guys have given me,” she tells the audience at one point, speaking in a mix of English and Spanish. “Today, I’m very emotional and I don’t have the words to describe just how much your support means to me.”
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It’s the final show of Miko’s 24-date XOXO U.S. tour, her biggest trek yet, swiftly following her 2023 Trap Kitty world tour. Last year, “we played 40 minutes,” Miko explains backstage hours before her performance. “Now I’m onstage for two hours. Our crew was like 10 people; now it’s more than 50 of us,” she adds, her eyes growing wider. “Everything has multiplied.” Her mixture of excitement and incredulity is understandable. The gifted singer-rapper born María Victoria Ramírez de Arellano in the northwestern Puerto Rican town of Añasco has had a meteoric rise, becoming one of the most promising global artists of her generation on the strength of her attitude-heavy trap songs and refreshing songwriting, which draws inspiration from her queer identity.
In the past year, Miko, who uploaded her first songs to SoundCloud in 2019 and signed with Puerto Rican indie label The Wave Music Group two years later, opened for Karol G’s stadium tour; collaborated with Bad Bunny on his track “Fina”; made her Coachella debut; and delivered her genre-bending debut album, att., which became her first Billboard 200 entry (short for atentamente, the title translates to “sincerely”). To date, she has had six entries on the Billboard Global 200 and Global Excl. U.S. charts, and 319.9 million on-demand official streams in the United States, according to Luminate.
“I take everything one day at a time,” says Miko, who was a tattoo artist before she committed to music full time. “Opening for Karol in stadiums, that helped me loosen up. Seeing her up close and personal and how she connected with her fans, that was huge. It helped me grow onstage, as a person and as an artist. It’s been a process, and I’ve learned to embrace every stage of my career.”
Ruven Afanador
Supporting Karol G’s tour was a “turning point” for Miko, says Hans Schafer, senior vp of global touring at Live Nation, which produced both Karol’s and Miko’s recent tours. “It solidified her presence in the Latin market and expanded her reach globally. Miko can potentially be one of her generation’s defining artists. She’s already proven she can headline [a] tour, and her ability to evolve musically while staying true to her roots is a critical factor in long-term success in the touring space.”
Miko’s achievements on the touring front and beyond reflect the slow but steady diversification of Latin music — and more specifically urbano music, which has been ruled by male artists for the past 20 years — and have made her rise feel even more momentous. The significance isn’t lost on her.
“Our generation is much more receptive and inclusive — what a time to be alive,” Miko says. “People just don’t give a f–k anymore; they care that you’re a good person. I remember how refreshing it was to hear Ivy Queen doing reggaetón and now you can name so many women in the genre; the change is here and you can’t deny it. It doesn’t mean we can now just lay back either. I’m excited to be part of a movement and a moment in history when people look back and say, ‘I remember Karol and Young Miko, and this one, and the other one.’ ”
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That turning tide inspired Young Miko and her team, which includes her manager (and best friend), Mariana López Crespo, and her longtime producer, Mauro (who is also López Crespo’s brother), to launch 1K, a company they describe as a creative collective comprising 20 individuals who are all also part of Miko’s team. “I don’t want to eat alone at the table,” Miko explains. “We’re very passionate about growing 1K into an empire — think Death Row Records — by signing and investing in new artists and content creators. We’re all in it to learn, grow and help others.”
She and López Crespo, who is also a queer woman, first met when they were teen soccer players. Together, they learned a valuable lesson. “The goalkeeper can’t save the game, the midfielder supports the defender, the defender is nothing without the forward, the midfield is nothing without the bench, and the bench is nothing without the coach,” Miko says. “We apply that mentality to everything we do today.”
López Crespo and Young Miko first met in 2012, when they were both trying out for the Puerto Rican women’s national soccer team. They both made the team — and instantly became best friends. Besides sharing a love for fútbol, the teenagers discovered they had the same taste in music, from Puerto Rican reggae band Cultura Profética to Lauryn Hill to Gwen Stefani. “She was the one on the team who was always blasting music on the speakers — she knew all the verses, she was charismatic, you could tell she really enjoyed performing,” López Crespo recalls of Miko.
After four years of playing together on the national football team (Miko as midfielder and López Crespo as forward), the two went their separate ways. Both were attending the University of Puerto Rico’s Río Piedras campus, but then Miko transferred to Inter American University and López Crespo moved to Costa Rica to play soccer, though she eventually returned to Puerto Rico after an injury. Around 2018, she reconnected with Young Miko — or Vicky, as López Crespo still calls her — who showed her some of the music she had recorded using her iPhone and the built-in microphone on her Apple headphones. “I told her that she had to take this seriously because there was something there — her songs had personality,” López Crespo recalls. “I said, ‘Maybe you don’t have the resources now, but you have the discipline. Don’t stop.’ ” Miko’s response? “I’ll pursue this only if you are my manager.” “Fine,” López Crespo remembers thinking. “I’ve never done this, but I like a challenge, so vamos pa’ encima [let’s do it].”
Entire Studios top, Tiffany & Co. necklace and bracelet.
Ruven Afanador
Trained to be on an attack’s front line as a forward, López Crespo hit the ground running and started assembling a team that would help develop the plan for Young Miko’s career. One of the first people she approached was her brother Mauro, a trained musician who was also just starting his career as a producer.
“My sister told me that Vicky was making music and showed me two songs she had on SoundCloud,” Mauro remembers. “I immediately told Mariana, ‘There’s something here — she has the look, the swag, the voice, the bars. It’s raw, but it’s all there.’ ” A saxophonist who graduated from the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras with a bachelor’s degree in music, Mauro had taught himself to produce after being mesmerized when he saw one of his peers create a beat on a laptop. With the help of YouTube videos and patient producer friends, by 2020, he had posted some of his beats to Instagram.
“Things are always meant to be, they’re already written in our destiny,” Miko says. “When I was starting in music, Mauro was also starting to produce, so we grew together. I would give him that space to explore with me and he would give me space to explore as a songwriter, a singer. He forces me to open up, and I do the same with him. It’s been that way from the beginning.” She adds, categorically: “There would be no Young Miko without Mauro.”
Just as Miko and her team were getting going, the pandemic hit — but they used the COVID-19 shutdown to their advantage. López Crespo and Miko rented a mountaintop Airbnb in Rincón to host their inaugural songwriting camp. It was the first time that Miko’s “core” team, including producers and creatives, “locked ourselves in,” López Crespo says. “Not for the purpose of needing to get something out there, but rather to explore, get to know each other and build trust. I remember saying we’d give this process two years, and if we didn’t see anything happening, we’d reconsider. But it was clear that there was a special feeling in that camp. There was uncertainty, yes, but a lot of desire to grow.”
Ruven Afanador
Although the songs created during the camp were never officially released, Miko’s older material on SoundCloud still managed to catch Angelo Torres’ attention. The executive came across Miko’s SoundCloud link while scrolling through X. “I was instantly captivated when I heard her tracks,” he told Billboard when Miko was named Latin Rookie of the Year in 2023. “There was something undeniably intriguing about her sound. [I thought], ‘I really need to meet this person.’ ” He not only met her but signed her to The Wave Music Group in 2021, which he had recently launched alongside producer Caleb Calloway, who has since co-produced some of Miko’s biggest hits. Last year, Capitol Music Group locked in a long-term distribution deal with the label.
Torres was also one of the first people with whom López Crespo talked business. “He’s someone I’m grateful for because it’s people like him that really encourage you and want you to grow,” she says. “They may be veterans and you are the new one, but they see that hunger in you.”
Young Miko’s eyes light up when she talks about having her closest friends as part of her team, knowing she’s surrounded by people who believed in her from day one — especially the person she has won championships with on — and now off, in a sense — the field. “Mariana has been my sister for as long as I can remember and I’m so proud of her. We’ve always been a dynamic duo. It gives me great pride to know that when we are no longer here, they will mention a name as great as Mariana López Crespo and I will be next to that name. Damn, I got so gay today, bro,” she says as she walks over to hug López Crespo, who is crouched in a corner of the Hard Rock Live green room, hands covering her face. “Don’t cry, it’s what I feel. And I don’t tell you often, but sometimes we need to stop and smell the roses.”
As Young Miko sees it, the foundation of her life hasn’t really changed even as she has catapulted to stardom. “It doesn’t have to,” she says before inadvertently evoking an anthem by one of her favorite ’90s acts: “I’m just a girl,” she adds with a sweet smile.
She still lives in Puerto Rico and hangs out with the same group of friends she did before she became a global star. “I feel like we hustle just how we used to hustle back then,” she adds. “We enjoy the feeling of being an underdog. Having bets against you and responding with ‘No, we’ve got this’? Best feeling.”
It’s her parents’ lives that she says she has changed. “I take my parents everywhere with me. They are my biggest fans. They are just super grateful and excited. The other day they told me, ‘We feel like we just started living and we’re 60-something,’ ” she says, pausing and taking a deep breath. “I get emotional.”
Young Miko photographed August 29, 2024 at Seret Studios in Brooklyn.
Ruven Afanador
And while she’s no longer on the soccer pitch, she has a new squad cheering her on. “I think [Bad Bunny] and Karol saw something of themselves in me. It came from their hearts to want to support or contribute to my career. It also gives me a lot of motivation because they are artists that I admire and are examples I want to follow. When I have people like them telling me, ‘You can 100% do this,’ then I have to,” she says. “Karol would take me to her sound check, show me things she did to warm up; she didn’t have to do any of that stuff.”
Earlier this year, Karol released the music video for “Contigo,” in which Young Miko plays her romantic interest. Especially for an urban artist, it felt like a big statement in support of the LGBTQ+ community — though Miko says the genre is more accepting of queer artists today than it has ever been. “I used to do things that were so innocent to a certain extent that I didn’t even realize I was causing a shift in the pendulum,” she explains. “Now looking back, I understand how shocking these things can be. I’m already thinking of new ways to grow a bigger space for everyone and keep changing things.”
To that end, Miko is also working to get people registered to vote ahead of the U.S. November election. A few weeks ago, she encouraged her Instagram followers — all 7 million of them — to make sure they’re registered, adding that she’ll be voting early because she won’t physically be in Puerto Rico on Nov. 5. “It’s something I’m very passionate about — my whole team is,” she says of joining the significant number of Latin and non-Latin acts alike who’ve used their platforms to engage their fans in civic action. (She hasn’t yet supported a specific candidate.) “It is very important for the future of my island, the future of my people. I was very excited when I saw [Bad Bunny] posting; I saw myself in him as a person who lives in Puerto Rico. I think it is important to bring at least a little bit of awareness — like, ‘Hey, educate yourself on what you believe is right for you and your country.’ ”
It all feels intrinsically connected to another topic that makes Miko perk up: her vision for her future, which feels limitless. “It can look scary, but I know I’m capable of doing everything I set my mind to. I tell Mariana that I want to be in movies, that I want us to grow together as businesswomen — whether opportunities come to us or we go out and get them ourselves,” she says with determination. “I want to look back and be able to say that I did everything I wanted and squeezed everything I could out of this life.”
This story appears in the Sept. 28, 2024, issue of Billboard.
Young Miko is sitting, legs crisscrossed, atop her purple bed, surrounded by bookshelves, a boombox and a big Tamagotchi. A microphone clutched to her chest, she’s visibly emotional, almost teary-eyed. But she’s not alone in what appears to be her bedroom. On this September evening, she’s onstage at Miami’s Hard Rock Live, and a crowd […]
J Balvin and I have a date at Tiffany’s.
Admittedly, even I don’t realize this until I reach the storied display windows on Fifth Avenue, where I’m led to a private elevator manned by a uniformed attendant who silently takes me up, up, up. The doors open to a stunning private room with unfettered views of the Manhattan skyline and Central Park — where I also find José Álvaro Osorio Balvin himself. He looks every bit the lord of the manor, in a casually elegant short-sleeved white T-shirt tucked into sleek black Prada cargo pants. His beard is trimmed and his hair is pulled back in neat cornrows, exposing the matching diamond studs in his earlobes. On his wrist is a Patek Philippe watch.
It’s a rare oasis of calm for an artist who lately seems to have been moving nonstop in multiple directions at once. Since the beginning of the year, Balvin has appeared in the cinematic teaser for Usher’s Super Bowl halftime show; released a new shoe in collaboration with Air Jordan; been the face of Cheetos’ new “Deja tu Huella” campaign; performed a major Coachella set (the second-highest billed artist of the day, behind Doja Cat), featuring a surprise appearance by Will Smith; toured Europe and then Australia and New Zealand; and in August, released Rayo, his first album since 2021. He’s currently preparing a collaboration with G-SHOCK watches. Before the year is over, Peacock will broadcast a new interview series he’ll host. And he’s already gearing up for his first feature film lead role, in the drug drama Little Lorraine, helmed by Grammy Award-winning director Andy Hines and planned for a 2025 release.
It’s a remarkably fruitful time — both creatively and commercially — for the Colombian star who three years ago, during the pandemic and at the height of his popularity, saw public opinion in some quarters turn sharply against him after a rapid-fire series of unfortunate, almost surreal incidents.
In 2021, following the birth of his son Rio (with his longtime girlfriend, model Valentina Ferrer), Balvin found himself in the crosshairs of rapper Residente, who took umbrage with Balvin’s call to boycott the Latin Grammys due to the absence of reggaetón in the main categories and who posted several scathing videos chastising him on social media.
Not long after, Balvin was criticized for his portrayal of women in the video for his 2021 song “Perra,” an edgy collaboration with Tokischa. Directed by Raymi Paulus, Tokischa’s collaborator, it showed Tokischa, who identifies as a queer woman, eating from a dog bowl and Balvin walking two Black women dressed as dogs on leashes, prompting Colombia’s then-vice president, Marta Lucía Ramírez, to call out the song’s “misogynist lyrics that violate women’s rights, comparing them to animals.” Days later, Balvin apologized publicly and removed the video from YouTube.
Mere weeks after that, confused fans questioned why the 2021 African Entertainment Awards named Balvin Afro-Latino artist of the year. “I am not Afro-Latino,” Balvin posted to his Instagram story in Spanish. “But thank you for giving me a place in the contribution to Afrobeat music and its movement.”
Then, in March 2022, Residente, whom Balvin had considered a friend, resurfaced with “Residente: Bzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 49,” a no-holds-barred, nine-minute opus made with Argentine DJ Bizarrap that torpedoed reggaetón in general but zeroed in on Balvin, criticizing him for, among other things, “using mental health to sell a documentary” and for the “Perra” video.
And through it all, Balvin’s mother was in and out of intensive care in the singer’s native Medellín. (She is now better but still has health struggles.)
While Balvin kept up with social media posts and appearances, privately he was taken aback. “In my entire career, I had never been a person who had scandals,” notes the 39-year-old, who says he hasn’t spoken to Residente since. “I used to say, ‘Why do all these artists have things happen to them, and nothing happens to me!’ You’re looking at it from up there, and then, suddenly you’re in the middle of it.”
Musically, Balvin went quiet — mostly — for nearly three years. An extraordinarily prolific artist, between 2014 and 2021 he had released six albums, all top 10s on Billboard’s Top Latin Albums chart, including four No. 1s, and charted 96 singles on Hot Latin Songs (including nine No. 1s) and 18 on the Billboard Hot 100, including the chart-topper “I Like It,” with Cardi B and Bad Bunny. (Balvin also holds the record for most No. 1s on Latin Airplay, 36.) After March 2022, he put out only a handful of singles and no albums.
But Balvin, a relentless hustler at heart, regrouped with his family; parted ways with Scooter Braun, who had managed him during this turbulent period; and took stock of his friendships. During this dark hour, he sought advice from Maluma, a colleague who had never been a close friend, but who had experienced similar public excoriation in 2016 when he released his controversial song “Cuatro Babys.”
“I was always very willing to help José when all this happened because I went through that,” Maluma says. “At end of the day, even if you pretend it doesn’t matter, it hurts when people have the wrong idea about you, and defending yourself against the entire world is very difficult. Plus, we’re both Colombian, we’ve both had beautiful careers, and we’ve elevated our country and our genre. José is one of the most important pillars of Latin and urban music. He takes his career very seriously. It was the least I could do.”
Entire Studios top.
David Needleman
Balvin began to formulate a plan for returning to the spotlight. He approached Roc Nation co-founder and longtime CEO Jay Brown, and two years ago, signed with Roc Nation to manage all aspects of his career. “He was being very thoughtful about what he wanted. He was looking for insights on how to grow his brands, how to expand on what he wanted to do with his career, outside his music,” Brown says, noting that he and Balvin communicate almost daily. “It’s about managing his enthusiasm, his inspiration. He loves what he does, he loves touching people, he loves being out there. I think that’s refreshing. And he’s a good guy. It’s hard to say no to something like that.”
In 2022, Balvin launched his education-focused foundation, Vibra en Alta, in Colombia. Earlier this year, he also switched labels, moving within the Universal family from Universal Music Latino to Capitol under Capitol Music Group chairman/CEO Tom March and Interscope Capitol Labels Group executive vp Nir Seroussi, a good friend. At the same time, he returned to the studio, working with longtime producers like Jeremy Ayala (Daddy Yankee’s son) and Luis Ángel O’Neill, while also trying out new material with young, rising artists like Saiko, Dei V and Feid.
In short order, he cut more than 40 tracks, which he then narrowed down to 15 spunky reggaetón bangers for an album he named Rayo, which translates to “lightning.” The name and the sleek, silver car on the cover pay homage to Balvin’s first car, a beat-up red Volkswagen Golf that he drove to gigs — a hopeful symbol of all the possibilities before him.
“I wanted to focus on the clear comeback of a Balvin focused on music, his career and his legacy,” Seroussi says. “When I sat down with him to see where he was spiritually, I saw a José that is going to win. He wakes up in the morning as if he were a new artist.”
Four months ago, Balvin wrote me on WhatsApp. He was ready to talk, he said, about everything. And so, here I am high above Tiffany & Co. for a private afternoon of coffee and macarons — just the two of us. As we chat, his openness surprises me. But then again, as Seroussi says, “He’s an artist who has nothing else to prove, but wants to keep doing music. Every [Latin] artist today who has something to do with urban music at a global scale can in some way trace back to what José opened for them.”
Balvin will sit down for a live one on one interview during Billboard Latin Music Week. You can purchase your tickets here.
Luar jacket and pants, Vetements shoes.
David Needleman
Your son Rio was born at a hectic point in your life. What did his arrival mean to you at the time?
His arrival was perfection because having Rio at that moment allowed me to really focus my energy on a person who came to bring me light. It was as if God was saying, “OK, I sent you a trial, but here’s a gift.” And I say that because since Rio’s birth, my — how do I say this — my emotional intelligence has grown very much. I don’t remember losing control since my son’s birth. I’ve had complicated moments, but I’ve never lost control. He brought me strength, a lot of patience, but yes, a lot of light. In fact, I made the Jordan Rios — which are black but have a sunset in the sole — based on the fact that in a moment of darkness, my son came and brought me light.
Let’s talk about this moment of darkness. It became really complicated for you on many fronts, particularly your dispute with Residente.
Have you ever had a friend turn on you? I considered him a friend, and I spoke with him as if he were a friend. Very openly. Con mucha confianza. That’s what surprised me and hurt and opened my eyes. I still believe I can make new friends, but it’s a little more complicated finding them these days. Because some of the people I thought were my friends ended up not being that. Obviously, this happened, it’s done, I’ve matured and I’m not holding a grudge or anything like that. I had to forgive myself for being so naive and opening my heart so easily to some people. The toughest part was to encounter a dark side of humanity in a moment of darkness. And I’m not saying I’m the most illuminated person either; I’ve made mistakes, and maybe I’ve made friends feel bad. But I’ve never betrayed a friend.
Personally, I never found you offensive. How do you think you made people feel bad?
I’ve been very honest. But as a paisa, we’re jokesters and we can get out of hand, and not everyone understands. We’re very open, and other cultures sometimes don’t understand that and take it the wrong way.
Feuds are common in rap and reggaetón. But this felt more like an attack than a feud. You never replied to Residente’s dis track, did you?
Never. First of all, you need to know what court to play in, right? When all this happened, it was the most complicated moment for my mom’s health. She was in intensive care. She told me, “Promise me you won’t reply and you won’t say anything. Do it for me. I know you, I know your essence, and this isn’t for you.” And the weight of a mother’s word is everything.
Is she aware of these things that happened to you?
Of course. And my mom suffered a lot. Now that I’m a father, I understand. It’s crossing a powerful line. A line that’s family, it’s sacred. The pain caused to a mother, a family, a sister, to the people who love you, was complicated. And it was complex for me because, following my mother’s advice, I never spoke out about this and I never defended myself. But I’m very clear on who I am. I’m not going to go out there and explain who I am to the world because clearly, people who know me know my essence and those are the people I want to be in good standing with.
I think not replying was wise…
As one of the leaders of Colombia’s movement I can’t set a bad example, no matter what people would like to see. I’ve always strived to be a better person and a gentleman in life. Being a decent person is a much harder task than being an “artist,” [which is] easier in the sense that if you have a talent and patience, you’ll get there. But being a better person is a daily task.
J Balvin photographed August 20, 2024 in New York. Entire Studios shirt.
David Needleman
You also had an issue surrounding the video for “Perra,” your single with Tokischa.
I’ve always been known for supporting new talent, and in Tokischa, I saw a woman who was very empowered and daring and who spoke positively about her sexuality in a way I had never seen before [in the Latin world], like Nicki Minaj or Cardi B do here in the U.S. If men in reggaetón can speak about their sexuality this way, I was struck to see a woman doing it. My mission was simply to do what I could to elevate and promote Tokischa and her art to a wider audience. I respect the way each person wants to conceptualize their vision, and this was her vision and her creation. I went there to support her vision, and I paid dearly for it.
In this case, after many people criticized the video, you not only took it down from your YouTube channel, but you spoke out and gave a public apology. Why?
I spoke out because this was a much deeper issue in that it went into topics like race, masculinity and machismo. However, if people had listened to the song, they would have realized it’s a story that has nothing to do with going against a race or gender. It was totally the opposite. Tokischa is an Afro Latina woman, and she was representing her race, her culture and the idiosyncrasies of her world. And obviously, my lyrics, I always approach them in a very commercial way and I’m very careful about what I say. But when things happen, they happen all at once.
I know you went to Maluma for advice. What did he say?
Maluma and I weren’t really friends. We were colleagues, but we also competed with each other. But I wrote him, and then I sat down with him. We’ve become very close. I’ve come to appreciate him and respect him more than ever, and now I can say he’s like a younger brother to me. I imagine it must have been tough when things happened to him, but then you grow an armor. That’s what happened to me. I became very cold; I didn’t want to open my heart to anyone. When I went back on social media, I didn’t want to go back to the old José who’s always making jokes and teasing, because I had a mental block. Until Rayo came around and I started to make music again for the love of music 100% and stopped thinking about the business.
How was your approach different?
I began to make music with a sense of security that came down to: I don’t have to prove myself in this business. It would have been complicated if I hadn’t achieved anything [before] and I had to prove myself. But we’ve achieved so many changes and evolutions. I remember you interviewed me years ago with Nicky Jam and you asked: Do you think a song in Spanish will make it to No. 1 on the Hot 100? And I said yes.
I remember that conversation well. And it happened.
We unlocked that. We unlocked performing at the Super Bowl. We unlocked having the most streamed artist in the world, we unlocked the first stadium played by a solo reggaetón artist, we unlocked sneaker culture, fashion, Guinness Records, so many things that hadn’t happened before. So I kind of look back and say, “Prove what? I need to regain my confidence after all these blows and enjoy the process.”
Luar jacket and pants.
David Needleman
You didn’t release an album for three years. For you, that’s an eternity…
And during those three years, I never left the top 50 of the most streamed artists in the world [on Spotify, where Balvin ranked No. 31 at press time]. It’s a beautiful thing to see that in a business where so few artists have the luxury of even saying, “I’m taking a year off.” Obviously, I questioned myself a lot when I came back. “Why the f–k did I leave?” Although I never stopped working. I kept playing festivals in Europe and all that. But I think my official return was when I played Coachella.
I have to imagine that setting foot on that Coachella stage was a little nerve-racking.
Of course! Plus, that show was planned for a year because Coachella had never allowed something to be hung from the roof, because of the wind in the desert. So we took the risk of hanging the [giant inflatable] UFO, and the investment was very high. But it was finally spectacular, and having Will Smith [make a guest appearance to perform “Men in Black”] was very cool. I saw myself in him, in the sense that both of us went through a dark period — and I know that mistakes don’t define a person and can’t detract from the greatness of what he’s achieved. I was so happy to share his return because after the Oscars incident, this was his first public appearance, and a week later, Bad Boys [for Life] came out. And it wasn’t planned!
Were you two friends?
No, we had never met. I [felt] I needed something else to really make a statement in the show. And Will Smith came to mind, because what’s better than Men in Black? [Balvin reached out to Smith’s team and ultimately FaceTimed him.] I told him my mission, with my passion. He said, “Give me a week.” [While I waited] like a good, hardworking paisa, I sent him a photo of the Virgin [Mary] praying. Then I sent him a votive candle, as if I were praying; then a voodoo doll. And exactly a week later, he called and said, “Let’s do it.”
Following Coachella, you took your tour to Europe, Australia and New Zealand to play for big and very receptive crowds despite these regions not being your core markets. Was that gratifying for you after a traumatic period?
When I did that tour, [and when] I went to Medellín to release the album and I saw the euphoria among the fans, I thought, “It was all in my head.”
Entire Studios top and pants, Air Jordan 3 x J Balvin shoes.
David Needleman
You’ve achieved global domination in many spheres. Most recently, you became the artist with the most titles, 15, in YouTube’s Billion Views Club. What drives you today?
What’s most important is a super reconnection and a super service to my Latinos, 100%. They’re the foundation of everything. The reason I’m a global artist is because Latins gave me that power. And I want a super reconnection with new generations and Gen Z. It’s never been a problem for me to connect with new generations because I like new artists and I enjoy collaborating with them. From there, I’d like to do a grand tour of the U.S. and Latin America. And I want to unlock India. Unlock it completely.
You were perhaps the first major Latin artist to talk frankly about mental health and your struggles with it. I know this has been a journey for you and you’ve taken medication for anxiety at times.
I still do. Always. Some people can do without meds. In my case, they’ve been lowering the dosage and I haven’t had any issues since my son was born. None. That’s why I said before, in the darkest moments, I didn’t lose control. But I take my pills daily. It’s perfectly normal, as if someone had an issue with high [blood] pressure. But there’s also meditation — I’ve been meditating since I was 19 years old — daily exercise, eating habits and the people you surround yourself with. The fact that I don’t do drugs or anything like that has also been part of having that mental, spiritual balance.
What role has Colombia’s music scene played in exposing the country to the world?
Music has been a path of light for Colombia at a global scale. I think it saved an entire generation. Now, all these Gen Zers want to be artists instead of drug dealers or killers for hire. When I started in music, there wasn’t a map for urban music in Colombia. There was Shakira and Carlos Vives and Juanes, but they were completely different genres. [Daddy] Yankee inspired me, but he’s Puerto Rican. No one had globalized urban music from Colombia. We literally took a pick and an axe and paved the way. I don’t know how we did it, but we did. And now I see this whole new generation of artists, like Ryan Castro, Blessd.
Karol G has also been steadfastly by your side. In fact, she invited you to perform at one of her shows at MetLife Stadium in New Jersey last year…
Karol is a friend who’s also become a teacher. That was a beautiful moment here at [MetLife] to come together again in a stadium full of people who came to see her. I told her, “You used to look up at me, and now, I’m your biggest fan.” It’s a beautiful cycle and I’m so proud of Colombia. We’re a small country but so strong in our music.
Luar jacket and pants, Vetements shoes.
David Needleman
How do you see yourself today?
I value what I’ve achieved, without a doubt. The insecurity I felt has gone, and I feel like a brand-new artist. If you listen to Rayo, you hear a refreshed J Balvin who had a good time. I didn’t make this album thinking I was going to make an album. I went to make music and remembered how I felt when I was 19 years old and I just wanted to show every song I made to my mom, my sister, my girlfriend, my friends. That’s why, when I finished the album, I wanted to name it for that moment in time, when my only ambitions were artistic, when I really knew nothing about the business.
You really feel like a new artist?
One hundred percent. And I’m working like a new artist. I mean, most artists of my level don’t go to Mexico and sit down for 200 interviews. I do, and also, it’s been three years! I’m ready to be overexposed. Whatever I need to do, it’s Balvin time. And I say that with certainty and because I know what I have and what I can give. Something positive always happens when I give it my all. I went through the dark times, and now, the sun is out and it’s shining on my face.
At 39 years old, how do you feel about longevity?
I’ll perform and record as long as I’m happy and people connect with me. We have yet to see the first elder reggaetón artist. We have the OGs — Yandel, Wisin — who look great. Yankee looks younger than when he started. But honestly, we haven’t had the example of seeing how long a reggaetón artist can go for. I see myself super gangster in the future. Not evil gangster, but as someone who’s done well, who’s been strategic in his movements and has done something well for society and culture. Like a Latin Jay-Z.
This story appears in the Oct. 5, 2024, issue of Billboard.
J Balvin and I have a date at Tiffany’s. Admittedly, even I don’t realize this until I reach the storied display windows on Fifth Avenue, where I’m led to a private elevator manned by a uniformed attendant who silently takes me up, up, up. The doors open to a stunning private room with unfettered views […]
As the California sunset paints the sky bright orange on a scorching August day, a caravan of luxury SUVs makes its way across the dirt roads outside Los Angeles that lead to Pico Rivera Sports Arena. When they arrive, the door of one pristine white Mercedes-Benz G-Class opens and 28-year-old Luis R Conriquez emerges. Clad in […]
On a balmy May evening in 2023, the Glasshouse — a neon-lit venue six stories above the Hudson River in Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood — buzzed with excitement. A music-industry crowd of hundreds had gathered for a private Telemundo Upfront event and its featured performance by Nicky Jam. And from the moment the seminal reggaetón star stepped onstage, clad in his signature baseball cap and an athletic Amiri ensemble beneath a wool trench coat, he showcased why he’s not just part of the genre’s history but also a vital architect of its present and future.
As Nicky sang 2003’s “Yo No Soy Tu Marido,” a bold attendee leapt onstage to dance alongside him. “Oh, ella quiere perrear!” (“She wants to twerk!”) he exclaimed, happily engaging with his unexpected partner as she enthusiastically began to grind on him. For about two hours, Nicky commanded the spotlight with that kind of effortless swagger, cycling through his expansive catalog of hits, from his 2014 international breakout smash, “Travesuras,” to the pulsating beats of “Hasta El Amanecer,” to the pop-reggaetón banger “El Perdón,” to the groundbreaking collaborative track “Te Boté (Remix).”
Trending on Billboard
Two decades into his career, Nicky is still vital onstage — which made it all the more shocking when, last October, he told his more than 40 million Instagram followers that he was “retiring soon.” He paired his social media announcement with footage from his 2018 Netflix bio-series, Nicky Jam: El Ganador, which chronicled how he’d recovered from a turbulent past marked by drug addiction (and a stint in prison) to become one of Latin music’s most illustrious figures. “I’m not going to be a singer for the rest of my life,” he tells Billboard today over Zoom from his Miami home. “I think I’ll probably retire soon… Well, not retire. Singers never retire. You just tone it down.”
Nicky Jam will headline Rumbazo on Sept. 13 at the Downtown Las Vegas Events Center. For more information, go to rumbazofest.com.
Offstage, the 43-year-old born Nick Rivera Caminero certainly doesn’t look like he’s slowing down. He’s channeled his creativity into a burgeoning business empire, running a chic Miami restaurant, La Industria Bakery & Cafe, and a few boutique hotels in Colombian cities including Cartagena, Guatapé and Medellín. “I have another hotel in Tierra Bomba that we’re almost finishing. It’s on an island resort [in Colombia] that I bought,” he mentions casually, then adds with a grin: “I’ll probably come out with weed too.”
In addition to these ventures, he’s recently launched his own lines of vape products (NickyJam x fume) and energy drinks (Athon) and even dipped his toes into the media world as host of The Rockstar Show (which streams on his official YouTube channel as well as all podcast platforms), where he’s interviewed Latin music stars including Karol G, Rauw Alejandro and Tainy (not to mention Billboard’s own chief content officer of Latin/Español, Leila Cobo). “We’re coming out with the third season right now,” Nicky says. And he also just signed his first full management client, up-and-coming Bronx rapper Axel Leon. (Nicky is also part of the management team for Manuel Turizo.)
However, for the moment, Nicky continues to find music creatively fruitful. The artist has been open about his battles with addiction, but when speaking with Billboard, he also reveals that he’s grappled with anxiety and depression for the past two years. That emotional turbulence — and the sleepless nights that came with it — inspired his sixth studio album, one of his most personal to date. Insomnio, out Sept. 6, delves into his personal reflections and nocturnal musings, while musically blending the sounds of Afrobeats, soul, trap and reggaetón.
For the project, he enlisted a range of talent from all over the world including Jamaican dancehall veteran Sean Paul, Puerto Rican trap star Eladio Carrión, Italian DJ-producer Benny Benassi, Argentine rapper Trueno and Colombian reggaetón star Ryan Castro. “It’s crazy to collaborate with a person you grew up listening to on the stoops of your neighborhood, the cars blasting his music in your city,” says Trueno, who guests on the classically reggaetón single “Cangrinaje.” “It’s like being able to transcend the line from being an admirer to being able to collaborate with that influence. Nicky Jam, without a doubt, was one of those visions that has stayed with me.”
“Having a track with Nicky for his latest album is very special to me because I watched him perform in nightclubs in Medellín,” says Castro, who’s listened to Nicky since he was a kid. “Seeing him overcome everything he went through in life and achieve what he has is the ultimate inspiration for me. Nicky is a star, and since I met him, we’ve developed a great friendship. I feel like he’s one of our own in Colombia.”
KSUBI shirt, Amiri pants and Louis Vuitton glasses.
Devin Christopher
Before his resurgence in the mid-2000s, however, Nicky faced significant struggles on his native island. “In Puerto Rico, I wasn’t booking any shows. Nobody wanted to deal with me — I had a bunch of problems on the streets, I was into drugs, I was a mess. Back in Puerto Rico at that time, I was the embarrassment of reggaetón music,” Nicky told the podcast Drink Champs last year. “But in Colombia, I was a legend,” he added, noting that Colombians appreciated both his hits and the songs that weren’t popular back home.
When Nicky moved to Colombia in 2007, he experienced a rebirth. “He arrives from Puerto Rico to Colombia con una mano atrás y otra adelante,” says his longtime manager Juan Diego Medina, using the Colombian expression for arriving with nothing. “In Colombia, he went through an entire musical process. He says that he learned to be human there, in the city [of Medellín] and country.” (In July, the two amicably parted ways after 13 years but remain close friends.)
“Moving to Colombia gave me the mojo to do the music,” Nicky says. “I got to Colombia in a moment when I desperately needed to work. They were listening to my old songs; they said they were classics. It changed my way of thinking and my way of writing music. I just sat down and I said, ‘If I make a No. 1 hit in this country, that would mean a lot of views on YouTube.’ With 45 million people [back then in Colombia], I was motivated. So I did a No. 1 national hit in Colombia, then four, five more. I became the new Colombian sound.”
In Colombia, Nicky embraced local culture while leveraging then-emerging digital platforms to reach a wider audience. “He had his whole trajectory in Puerto Rico and went to Colombia to try to reinvent himself, to find that audience that would give him a second opportunity,” says Stephanie Carvajal, artist relations and development, Latin lead at YouTube. “What allowed him to break beyond was a platform like YouTube. Nicky Jam was one of the pioneers in understanding and harnessing the power of YouTube to extend his music to audiences worldwide.”
Released in February 2015, “El Perdón,” Nicky’s game-changing collaboration with Enrique Iglesias, was a pivotal moment in reggaetón’s evolution from crude barrio genre to global juggernaut. “Nicky Jam was blowing up in Colombia, and Enrique had just put out ‘Bailando,’ ” recalls industry veteran Gerardo Mejía, who had worked closely with the Spanish pop superstar at Interscope Records and remained in close contact with him. “I said to Enrique, ‘Bro, you got to do something with Nicky.’ Nicky sent us ‘El Perdón.’ I said, ‘Wow, this is a hit.’ We saw how the [reggaetón] crossover began to happen through Enrique’s pop strength. All reggaetón started becoming more [mainstream] — it wasn’t so street anymore.”
But Iglesias’ pop-oriented style initially gave Nicky pause when he first heard it. “I felt the song was too pop-ish,” he admits. “I was worried about my street community. My urban community. I thought they were going to criticize me, so I put out the song without him. Then the record label, Sony, was like, ‘Yo, bro, we need you to put Enrique back on that track because it will be the best move you would do.’ We did the video and the version with Enrique, and that became a global hit.”
Louis Vuitton glasses, Gucci belt, Amiri pants and Palm Angels shoes.
Devin Christopher
Almost a decade later, Nicky Jam is one of YouTube’s most watched Latin artists of all time, boasting seven videos in the platform’s Billion Views Club. On the Billboard charts, “El Perdón” began a run of nine entries on the Hot 100 for him, and two of his albums, 2017’s Fénix and 2019’s Intimo, charted on the Billboard 200.
His Insomnio singles have also fared well: The 2023 Feid collaboration “69” climbed to No. 41 on Hot Latin Songs, No. 37 on Latin Airplay, No. 18 on Latin Digital Song Sales and No. 10 on Latin Rhythm Airplay; “Calor,” with Beéle, reached No. 20 on Latin Airplay and No. 6 on Latin Rhythm Airplay; and the title track, released in August, soared to No. 9 on Tropical Airplay.
And as he prepares for Insomnio’s release and contemplates what might come after, Nicky is well aware of his influence. “I came out exactly at that moment where everything happened,” he says. “For some weird reason, me being an old-school singer, I started what’s going on right now. I’m lucky to say I’m from the old school. I did a lot of hits back in the days, but when it came to the new stuff and the new movement, I’m one of the creators and pioneers of that moment, too.”
Insomnio is an evocative title. What inspired it, and how does it relate to the music’s themes?
I’ve been having two crazy years. I was struggling with anxiety and depression. A lot of the problems from the past were catching up to me. It led me to drink a lot. I had problems with drugs in the past, but never with alcohol. Alcohol is something legal that you find anywhere you go. I started drinking a lot, and it took me to a dark spot where I was feeling like it wasn’t the Nicky people are used to. I was partying too much, going out and I wasn’t sleeping. The crazy thing is sometimes, out of bad things, good things come. I did badass songs for this album during this dark moment. The reason why the album is called Insomnio is because most of the songs [were written, recorded and] take place at night.
How did the nocturnal songwriting process influence the album’s overall tone and message?
Remember, music is the art of expression, and I’m expressing myself. I’ve always been that type of person who’s very transparent. I never hide who I am or what I do. If you listen to “3 a.m. y yo en la cyber truck, pensando cuando contigo me daba los shot” [from “La Cyber” featuring Luar La L], “Exótica” [with lyrics] like “ver el sol caer,” most of the songs talk about me in full self-destruction mode, partying and not giving a f–k about life and just going crazy. If you listen to “Insomnio,” the merengue song, it’s a very sad song [lyrically].
Louis Vuitton glasses, Gucci belt, Amiri pants.
Devin Christopher
Merengue is usually joyful, but “Insomnio” takes a darker turn. How did you balance its upbeat rhythm with its somber themes?
If you listen to “El Perdón,” it’s a sad song. But you put that beat [on it], it automatically becomes a happy song. I think that’s part of my magic. I can make a sad song sound happy. That’s part of my creation mode. I really like that people can sing a sad song not even known as a sad song. That’s magic! If I were to sing that with low, dark chords, you automatically would have been like, “Damn, this motherf–ker is sad as f–k.” The reality is I was sad when I wrote that song, but in the production moment, I said, “I am not going to make this a sad song, I want this upbeat.”
Every album has its own unique creation journey. How would you differentiate Insomnio from Infinity, Intimo or Fénix in terms of the creative process?
I’m going to be honest with you. Fénix is an album that you can realize is Nicky Jam in his prime, doing his comeback and very happy about life. It was a different moment in my life. These other two albums, it was just working. I was touring so much and I just did music and put the [album] name after. These other two albums have no meaning for me. Insomnio has more meaning than any of these albums because I’m telling the people how I felt in one of my darkest moments.
On Insomnio, you navigate between trap, merengue, reggaetón, Afrobeats and electronic music. Can you talk about exploring a wide spectrum of genres?
I’m not this guy that stays in one corner. I could sing R&B, hip-hop, trap, reggaetón, merengue, whatever. The merengue thing is something I’ve never done. That’s why I wanted to do it. That’s funny because I’m half Dominican. Merengue right now is doing really good. Karol G came out with a merengue, Manuel Turizo, and a couple of others. I wanted a part of it. But the whole trap song thing was because Eladio Carrión sent me the [beat]. Then the Afrobeats is something that’s really going on right now. Quería cubrir todas las partes — I wanted to have every corner block. That’s what I did with the album.
Alongside your music, you’ve ventured into business, investing and launching restaurants and hotels. How do these fit into your long-term plans?
I’m not going to be a singer the rest of my life. I’m 43 years old. In a [few] years, I’ll be 50. A 50-year-old reggaetón artist; I don’t know if that looks so good. Daddy Yankee retired at 47, 48. I think I’ll probably retire soon, too. Not now, but probably in seven to 10 years. Well, not retire. The word “retire” for a singer does not make any sense. Daddy Yankee said he retired, and he came out with a song [“Loveo”] a couple of months ago.
There are a lot of new kids, and you’re not going to compete when you’re almost 50 with a 20-year-old that has that brand-new sound, that new vibe that kids like. The reality is this is young people’s music. I’m not saying older people don’t listen to it, but if you see the list of the people, you’re going to see that it’s mostly the youth that listen to this music. You can’t compete with that. So I prepared myself businesswise.
When people say, “OK, Nicky, you’re too old for this,” I’ll be like, “All right, but I’m rich, baby. I got businesses that take care of me and [I] still live the lifestyle.” That’s what you want, to capitalize so many businesses that you don’t even have to perform and do music to live the lifestyle. I worked hard for it. That’s why I do businesses on the side, where I could profit enough that I can keep living that good life.
Faith by Luis hat.
Devin Christopher
How do your restaurant, La Industria Bakery & Café, and your hotels reflect your personal interests?
La Industria is mostly a brunch place. You get your pancakes and French toast. It’s that type of vibe. Here in Miami, I used to go to a lot of these spots, but I recognized there wasn’t a Spanish one. So I came out with the bakery, and it’s been a boon. It has my DNA everywhere. I was born and raised in Massachusetts, but I lived in Puerto Rico most of my life. At the end of the day, it’s a sweet pancake spot — but the bestseller is a hamburger called La Boricua. Everybody goes and gets that hamburger. They love it. You have a knife right through the middle.
You recently signed a management deal with hip-hop artist Axel Leon. What qualities do you look for in artists you mentor?
They got to be talented, disciplined, versatile and have a lot of charisma. That charisma goes crazy with the people. Just with that, you could conquer the world in the music industry. Talent is something, but if you have charisma and you’re hungry to work…
What led you to start The Rockstar Show?
I was in pandemic [mode]. Bored. I wasn’t doing anything. I was in my house and I said, “I got to work.” So I got a studio and I started interviewing artists. It started with a couple of interviews. From there, we went to The Rockstar Show. We’re coming out with the third season right now.
You took The Rockstar Show to Billboard Latin Music Week in 2023, and during your onstage interview with Ivy Queen you started beatboxing. What was that about?
I’m from the old school. Back in the day, we were MCs and we did everything. We’d rap, beatbox and dance. I used to breakdance. I used to [freestyle] battle in the corners like they do in the Red Bull Batalla. I’m very good. Believe me, ain’t nobody f–king with me.
As you continue diversifying your career, are there any other new avenues you’re looking to still explore?
Mostly hospitality, hotels. That’s what I’m really doing. I’ve done acting [in movies like 2017’s xXx: Return of Xander Cage and 2020’s Bad Boys for Life], I’ve done music, I’ve done it all.
Everything I do is to inspire people. Yes, it’s business, but at the end of the day, I come from a black hole most people don’t come out of. A lot of people that were raised with me, they’re dead right now. I’m not talking about one or two, I’m talking about hundreds of them. There’s a chance. There’s hope. If I did it, you could do it. That’s my philosophy.
This story appears in Billboard‘s Rumbazo special issue, dated Sept. 14, 2024.
On a balmy May evening in 2023, the Glasshouse — a neon-lit venue six stories above the Hudson River in Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood — buzzed with excitement. A music-industry crowd of hundreds had gathered for a private Telemundo Upfront event and its featured performance by Nicky Jam. And from the moment the seminal reggaetón […]
I don’t know if this is going to work,” Mike Shinoda told his Linkin Park bandmates one day in the studio last year. They were recording the vocals for a wall-rattling thrasher, and Shinoda, the band’s co-lead vocalist and main producer, wanted his voice to match the pummeling production — so he tried something a little different. When he opened his mouth, he let loose with rare ferocity: After years of singing, rapping and harmonizing, Shinoda emitted a full-blooded scream.
Months later, Shinoda downplays the sound he makes on the track. “Is it a scream, though? Is it?” the 47-year-old asks, mischievous grin widening. “It’s kind of an awkward yell.” He leans back on a couch in the lounge of Los Angeles’ EastWest Studios, where Linkin Park recorded part of the new album that track would ultimately appear on; bassist Dave Farrell is sitting next to him, and recalls commanding Shinoda to “push more” after hearing him wail in the booth. “I don’t think I’m capable of doing more than that,” says Shinoda — then he looks across the couch, toward Emily Armstrong. “My voice isn’t built like Emily’s voice,” Shinoda adds. Armstrong, a seasoned scream-singer, subtly nods and replies, “I got you.”
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Seven years after Linkin Park pressed pause following the death of singer Chester Bennington, one of the biggest rock groups of the 21st century is roaring back — with a new lineup, album, tour and collective outlook. The band announced Sept. 5 that Armstrong, the veteran leader of power-rock hell-raisers Dead Sara, would be Shinoda’s new co-vocalist, while studio polymath Colin Brittain (Sueco, All Time Low) would sign on as drummer and co-producer.
With Armstrong and Brittain on board — as well as original members Shinoda, Farrell, guitarist/co-producer Brad Delson and DJ/visual director Joe Hahn — Linkin Park will release From Zero, its eighth studio album, on Nov. 15 through longtime label Warner Records. The band will also play six arena shows across four continents this fall before “touring heavily” in 2025, according to Shinoda.
And with a two-decade catalog of hard-rock hits — as well as plenty of fresh material — to bring back to live audiences globally, the band is aiming for stadiums next year. Linkin Park’s new agency, WME, expects sky-high ticket demand for a band that has grossed over $120 million during its career, according to Billboard Boxscore. “Linkin Park is one of the biggest touring rock bands of our time,” says John Marx, partner and agent at WME, which the band quietly joined earlier this year. “The excitement their fans will have, being able to see and celebrate them after seven years, will be massive.”
Linkin Park planned this new era — including the arena shows that will kick off Sept. 11 with a hometown show at the Kia Forum in L.A. — in total secrecy, with abstract rumors swirling across the Linkin Park fan sphere as the band once again became active, hammered out new songs and rehearsed. Months of outside speculation was followed by a week-and-a-half of band-sanctioned teasers — all leading to this week, when Linkin Park announced Armstrong and Brittain as new additions, launched a global performance livestream and released the hard-charging anthem “The Emptiness Machine” as From Zero’s lead single.
“An immense amount of thought and care go into everything the band does,” says Ryan DeMarti, the band’s longtime manager (alongside Bill Silva and Trish Evangelista) at Machine Shop Entertainment. “I feel the utmost confidence that commitment shines through in every social media post, every press release, every liner note.”
Understandably, Linkin Park is starting its next chapter with heightened sensitivity, as the first band project since Bennington’s tragic death in 2017. Following a tribute concert featuring dozens of special-guest vocalists that October, Linkin Park’s members went their separate ways: Shinoda released the contemplative solo album Post Traumatic in 2018, then toured the world to commune with grieving fans, while Delson, Farrell, Hahn and drummer Rob Bourdon (who isn’t returning for this new era) largely stopped making music.
As the members reconvened for 20th-anniversary rereleases of their multiplatinum first two albums (2000’s Hybrid Theory and 2003’s Meteora), as well as this year’s greatest-hits album, Papercuts, the future of the band remained uncertain. What could a version of Linkin Park without Bennington’s fragile scream sound like?
“Part of working under darkness was simply the fact that we didn’t know how far we would get in our efforts,” Hahn explains. “We didn’t want to set ourselves or anyone else up for disappointment if we weren’t able to do it. This has been years of struggling to understand what it can and should be.”
There is plenty of historical precedent for mega-selling rock acts reinventing themselves following the death of an iconic frontman: Think Queen with Adam Lambert, Alice in Chains with William DuVall or Sublime with Bradley Nowell’s son, Jakob. If Linkin Park simply re-formed as a live act — with a new vocalist re-creating Bennington’s parts on hits like “In the End,” “Numb” and “One Step Closer” — it’d be able to book sizable venues. The band’s numbers have been, and remain, huge: 22.7 million combined copies of the group’s seven studio albums sold in the United States to date, according to Luminate, with millions of monthly streams seven years after the band’s last activity and most recent album. And early last year, “Lost,” an unearthed single released as part of the Meteora reissue, cracked the top 40 of the Billboard Hot 100 and became Linkin Park’s longest-leading Alternative Airplay No. 1 in more than a decade, demonstrating the continued appeal of the band’s classic sound.
“The importance of their deep musical catalog cannot be overstated,” says Tom Corson, Warner Records’ co-chairman/COO. “Linkin Park’s songs are timeless — they’ve become part of the cultural fabric, and we actively promote and market their music, whether it’s of the past, the present or the future.”
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Yet instead of functioning as a nostalgia play to sell tickets, From Zero pulsates with renewed energy, a dynamic extension of Linkin Park’s multifaceted aesthetic. Some of the songs previewed for Billboard recall the quicksilver rap-rock aggression that made the band diamond-sellers; others iterate on specific eras, like the pulverizing metal of 2014’s The Hunting Party or the atmospheric alt-rock of 2010’s A Thousand Suns. Across the board, they carry a sense of pace and urgency — as if the band members refused to let up or phone in one moment of their grand return.
At the heart of the group’s new identity is the interplay between Shinoda, who sounds revitalized as both quick-twitch rapper and heartfelt crooner, and Armstrong, whose formidable rasp can both wallop and deeply affect rock listeners. On “The Emptiness Machine,” their voices collide over cleanly produced guitar blasts and form a magnetic tension. “It’s a great introduction to the record, and to this lineup,” Delson says of the single. “The song starts with Mike, and Emily’s vocal kind of sneaks in surreptitiously and then hits you hard over the head in the second chorus, and just builds intensity with both of their vocals through the end of the song.”
Shinoda and Armstrong also complement each other in person, cracking jokes in between studio anecdotes and communicating a shared passion to nail this next iteration of Linkin Park. “Now that we’re getting ready to do some shows, it’s been better than I imagined,” Shinoda says. “Emily was always going to be able to hit the notes and scream the parts. It’ll be a question of, ‘How does it land with people?’ And I don’t know how it will. But I know that, when I hear it, I love it.”
Did you guys ever think you’d be sitting here, talking about a new Linkin Park album?
Dave Farrell: I could give you 100 different answers, because my brain was in 100 different places. At one point early on — this is going back to pre-COVID, so call it 2018 or 2019 — Joe, Mike and myself were starting to write a little bit, or just get together and say, “Let’s do some stuff and see if we even like it; let’s be creative together.” There wasn’t an endgame to that, in my head at least.
So that process continued moving forward over a period of years, and then the last maybe 18 months or so, accelerated quite a bit. I think me, Mike and Joe got a lot more intentional: “If this is ever going to have a chance to do anything, then let’s be intentional of spending time together. Let’s see what we come up with,” rather than spending a month doing stuff and then not doing stuff for 10 or 11 months.
What was communication like between you guys over the course of those years?
Mike Shinoda: Everybody’s always close, even if they’re not talking all the time. I don’t really pay attention to how often I’m talking to anybody in the band — it’s usually just like, “Oh, this thing came up and Dave will think it’s funny.” You just reach out to each other, just like anybody. But I do think at that point in 2019, it’s safe to say we were talking less. For me personally, between ’19, ’20 and ’21, I would float the idea of getting together, [we’d] get together and it was fun, but there wasn’t any creative momentum. It was kind of start and stop.
[The band] met Emily around 2019 — she came in, we worked together at my old studio. We worked together… how many days?
Emily Armstrong: Maybe three.
Shinoda: And we played around with a couple ideas, but it was just meeting each other. Then at a later point, Em came in with the whole band for an afternoon and worked on something that day. And then it was… years [later]! I did a couple other songs and worked with some other people. It was almost like everyone was just exploring the idea of other things, what other things are out there. At some point, I realized that the other things that I was doing were not as exciting, not as fulfilling, as this.
Getting back into the group — at first it was Dave and Joe, and then Brad came in too at some point, and we were starting to do sessions with other people, some of [whom] I had written with in the year or two before that, including Colin. And then we brought Emily in, but we did sessions with a lot of different people, and as we worked, things just came into focus, naturally. Even with Emily and Colin, we didn’t say, “Hey, come in, we’re doing Linkin Park sessions.” We just said, “We’re going to write songs.”
Armstrong: “We don’t know what we’re doing, but we’re writing.” That’s what you said.
Shinoda: I was really clear about not knowing, not calling it anything. That’s what me and Dave and Joe agreed we would say. We were telling ourselves, “We’re not calling this Linkin Park,” because, who knows?
Armstrong: That was better — to see where it lands, instead of making it something and then having to fulfill that.
As you guys worked, how helpful were projects like the Meteora 20th-anniversary set and the Papercuts greatest-hits album, to put a bow on that era of Linkin Park?
Farrell: It did all that, and those projects kept us engaged with each other in a lot of ways, even in the midst of the band not being active for years. You need to talk and figure out, what do we want to do, and how do we want to do it? Do we want to do the Papercuts project, and how do we want to do press around it?
Shinoda: (To Armstrong.) Were you paying attention to those things? We never talked about that. The Hybrid Theory rerelease, and the greatest-hits album — did those show up on your radar?
Armstrong: Absolutely. Especially Papercuts, because I had started to be around a lot during that time.
Shinoda: What was that like?
Armstrong: It was great! It made me feel a little old.
Shinoda: It did? (Laughs.) I love it. It made you feel old? Well, thanks, because now I feel extra old!
Farrell: We were just talking about how, when we were in high school, a classic rock album was like, Led Zeppelin IV, and now we’ve reached a point where for somebody in high school, their classic rock album is Hybrid Theory. (Sighs.)
Shinoda: Emily and Colin are roughly 10 years younger than us — they’re this different generation, and what strikes me about that is that they’ve got a different perspective, with different ways of doing things, but they’re also old enough that they’ve got the [musical] experience. In Emily’s case, that’s particularly important. She’s been on the road and played a ton of shows, so when I was thinking about [playing shows], I was like, “OK, we don’t have to worry.”
Emily, what was your relationship to the band as you were growing up?
Armstrong: I was in a band when [Hybrid Theory] came out. “One Step Closer” was the song for me, and I was just like, “Holy s–t, that’s what I want to do. As a singer, I want to be able to scream.” That album was everything — I’ve listened to it a trillion times. I would skate to it. I would mosh to it.
Shinoda: Didn’t you tell me that, when you first heard it, you didn’t know you could scream?
Armstrong: No, I didn’t scream at the time — but I just knew that’s what I was going to do. It took me time to develop it, but I learned by listening to singers. I didn’t have training and stuff, so [Bennington] was somebody that I knew — and I was obsessed. All I would listen to was that album.
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Emily, when you guys started working together, even before Linkin Park was part of the equation, what was it about Mike’s process that appealed to you?
Armstrong: First off, it was very safe — and as an artist, if you feel safe, you’re going to get more out of the person, right? It’s a place where you can explore whatever it is that’s happening. “What do you want to talk about? What’s going on in your life?” It’s vulnerable, and that was key. And I just knew that process was fun, and it opened up a lot for me. That was the beginning — and then I had to wait a few years.
Shinoda: (Laughs.) I literally said to her, “FYI, we move so slow. We move slowly normally, but right now, everything’s really slow. It’s going to be a long time before you hear from me, probably, so just please be patient with me.” I remember being like, “Please don’t assume that just because you haven’t heard from me in a while that I don’t think you’re great. I do think you’re great. This is our speed right now.”
Armstrong: And I’m like, “Cool, coo coo coo cool, cool…”
Shinoda: But once it picked up — once we were coming here [to EastWest Studios], we were clear. I said, “We’re going to be there for this many weeks. You can come as often as you want, whatever you feel like you want to do.” And she said, immediately, “Is it OK if I come every day?” She cleared her schedule and showed up.
Armstrong: What schedule did I have? (Laughs.) I was just camping out with you guys.
Farrell: It’s so fun to look at it from this vantage point now, but in the midst of it, we didn’t know where it was going. I sincerely didn’t know if it was going to be something completely different than Linkin Park or a new version of it. In my head, I would shut down when I started asking myself, “OK, well, if this is new stuff, then how do you play old stuff?”
Mike was talking earlier about him doing music [after Bennington’s death] — I was the opposite. For a long time, I was like, “I don’t want to do any music. That hurts. I want to avoid that.” It took a while to get to a stage where I started feeling like this is actually energizing. And that was the shift for me, where it went from like, “Is it Linkin Park? Is it something else?” Emily feels like Linkin Park, Colin feels like Linkin Park. The six of us working together, figuring stuff out — that’s energizing, and I want to keep doing it. It was like filling a battery instead of draining it.
Shinoda: What was happening with me, Dave, Joe and Brad as well — we were showing up, and they were the best versions of themselves that I’ve ever seen. Since 2017, I feel like everybody did some real reflection and some real work on themselves. And to use Joe as an example — he and I are more creative types and have a long history together, so we’re brothers like that, where we’ll just get under each other’s skin over very specific, usually creative things. And when we started hanging out again more frequently, in the process that turned into this record, I was like, “What the hell! That guy is awesome!” He was awesome before — we’d just pick on each other. And now I’m, like, inspired by Joe? I don’t even have words to explain what a good feeling that is, that a person that you’ve known for so long is now different in a way that feels like spending time together is more fun and productive. I just like it more.
At what point in this gradual process did you guys go, “OK, this is Linkin Park, and these songs will be part of a Linkin Park album”?
Shinoda: As the songs came into focus, the band’s DNA was really thick with this body of work. To call it anything else would be strange and misleading. We teach our kids that when you fall down, you have to get back up and you have to go try again, right? The idea of us doing some other thing, with this group of people and the sound of this music, feels like it would have been a resignation, in a way. I hate to say “cowardly,” but it would feel like hedging a bet.
Really early on, I think I was just spitballing out loud, and I was like, “If we do some shows or something, maybe there’ll be a few people doing vocals.” Because we weren’t fully committed [to a new lineup] yet, and at that point, I didn’t want to put expectations super high on Emily. But it was a real thought: “Maybe it’s a bunch of people onstage.” And then Dave was one of the first people who was like, “I don’t want to half-ass anything. If we’re going to do something, let’s do it bold. If people don’t like it, so what? As long as we like it, and we’re confident, then let’s be bold with it!” So that’s what we’ve done, and that’s part of why I felt so empowered when we were making the record — to be like, “This is a Linkin Park song.”
Farrell: I also don’t want it to come across that I ever would think that Emily and Colin would automatically be in! From our side, it’s not an automatic yes — Emily has a ton of stuff going on, and same with Colin, who was having a ton of success writing and producing. Like, “Hey, Colin. Do you want to come drum on tour and leave everything else you’ve been working on?”
Shinoda: The guys and I thought we should ask Emily and get a serious temperature check — this was around this time last year. She was going to go on vacation for a week coming up, so we were like, “We should ask her before, so when she goes on that trip, she’s going to have some open time to think about it, and if it’s a bad fit for her, she’s going to know.” Later, Emily told us that we played it too cool.
Armstrong: They’re like, “Hey, um, just a couple questions.” And we were recording at the time. “Hey, so, you know, we got some shows coming up, and some big festival stuff. And, you know, it’s a year out, and we think that you’d be great. We think you could sing all the old songs, and we love what you do and what’s happening with this whole process…” I’m just like, “Cool, coo coo coo cool!” I had already talked to the people around me, and Dead Sara, who were like, “Absolutely. If they ask, it’s a no-brainer.” I’d already put my feelers out just to make sure, and they were putting their feelers out on me. It was like Melissa McCarthy in The Heat: “That’s why you don’t feed stray cats!” I had just kept showing up; I was the stray cat. But that was the moment.
So then imagine hearing that, and then you have to nonchalantly waltz back into the studio, and they’re like, “OK, Emily, let’s think of another line, we’re working on the verse!” I can’t f–king think of anything else, and I have to pretend that I’m not [freaking out]. I’m there for another few hours, and I’m just trying to play it cool, because they played it so cool. But there’s f–king no way you can process it. I remember we were there late that night, and afterward I was panicking in the best way: “Is it real?” For three days at least, I don’t ever remember touching the ground. And then everything was different when I came back down — knowing my life was going to be different, in the best way. I came back to a dreamland.
Once that reality sunk in, was there a sense of pressure? At that point, you knew that you were going to be singing Chester’s parts on these huge songs, taking over for this iconic voice.
Armstrong: There is so much to this band — this is a very, very important band to this world. And the integrity of the band was really helpful in keeping me grounded. There were so many of those moments where it was like, “Holy s–t,” when you talk about the size of the shows, stuff like that. I’m on cloud nine, but then it hits you that there’s a lot of work to be done.
And going into these [older] songs, by a singular voice that’s beloved by so many people — it’s like, “How do I be myself in this, but also carry on the emotion and what he brought in this band?” That was the work that I had to do. The feeling, the energy, was already there as we were doing the album, so it’s just incorporating that feeling. [I had] to identify what the song meant to me as a singer, not just as someone listening to it. You got to marry the technical part and the emotion. It’s Chester’s voice, and it’s mine, but I want it to still feel the way I feel when I listen to the song, because that’s what the fans love. There is a passion to it that I’m hoping I can fill.
You also couldn’t tell anyone you were a member of Linkin Park — and this was around a year ago. Why prepare all this under cover of darkness?
Shinoda: I love surprises. I love to plan a surprise. So when it comes to this month, the party is ready, the streamers are on the wall, and we just need to invite the guests over.
Once we decided to move to WME — and we had avoided a large agency for pretty much our entire career, but it felt like the best fit — we had to work out a way to do that, not only without making an announcement, but trying to keep the word as quiet as possible, so that we didn’t have Billboard and whoever else saying, “Hey, Linkin Park just switched agencies! Something must be f–king happening!” And they were really good partners in that sense — getting such a huge company to also not tell everybody. I was nervous about that, and it worked out. I wasn’t worried about people in music finding out — I was worried about our fans hearing it and saying, “What does this mean?” and starting to create narratives.
I wanted to ask about Rob not joining this new project, and Colin becoming the new drummer.
Shinoda: Rob had said to us at a point, I guess it was a few years ago now, that he wanted to put some distance between himself and the band. And we understood that — it was already apparent. He was starting to just show up less, be in less contact, and I know the fans noticed it too. The Hybrid Theory rerelease and Papercuts release, he didn’t show up for anything. So for me, as a friend, that was sad, but at the same time, I want him to do whatever makes him happy, and obviously everybody wishes him the best.
I had done sessions with Colin — I met him around 2021, when I got an invite to a session with a couple of different writers, and Colin was one of the guys in the room, and I immediately clicked with him. He’s playing drums in the live show, and drums are his first instrument, but he plays guitar and bass and keyboard, and he produces and mixes. We have a similar way of looking at music, of starting from scratch, and I really enjoyed working with him and bouncing ideas back-and-forth. I don’t know if any of these songs are going to be released, but we had done something with grandson, Bea Miller, Sueco — just getting in the room together to make stuff. And then when Linkin Park started making stuff, for whatever we were going to do, it was just like, “Oh, Colin. We’re making stuff. You should come over.”
Mike and Dave, what was it about Emily that just worked in this template, in terms of her voice, ideas and approach?
Farrell: Going back to 2017 or 2018, I was familiar with Emily’s voice from Dead Sara, and I just loved it — you have that relationship immediately with the vocalist of a band where it just hits you. And then as we got to work with Emily more, it wasn’t just the fact that she’s supertalented vocally, or that she’s a great person who I love hanging out with — when she sings, I connect with it. For me, that’s what’s always felt like Linkin Park: being able to connect with what Mike’s doing, what Chester was doing, on an emotional level, and be able to absorb that and feel that for myself. As we worked more, and as we got to see what Emily was capable of and the different things that she could bring to the music, it just felt like such a natural, easy, powerful fit. It’s hard to describe, other than just that sense of “This works.”
Shinoda: I’ve always been the vocal producer, and I’m always there for the recording of all the vocals. With Chester, he was the type of vocalist who, like most really good vocalists, could imitate lots of other people. You could say Dave Gahan from Depeche Mode, you could say Perry Farrell [from Jane’s Addiction], you could say Scott Weiland [from Stone Temple Pilots], and he could push in that direction very accurately. So when we were working together, I knew all of those levers to pull, and I could say, “Hey, you’re singing it a little like that person. Can you please try and sing it like this person?”
And then with Emily, in the beginning especially, I’m like, “OK, I don’t know your voice super well. I don’t know you super well and what you like.” (To Armstrong.) Do you remember when I came in here with the… I can see her face, the country artist…
Armstrong: Bonnie Raitt.
Shinoda: Yes! I was driving here to EastWest, and it occurred to me that Emily has a texture of her voice that could go in a Bonnie Raitt direction. And I ran in, and I go, “Do you like Bonnie Raitt?” She’s like, “Yeah, I love Bonnie Raitt.” We got into what Bonnie Raitt songs you knew and you liked, and you sang along with those to get in the mood. And then we sang our song with that texture. And I was like, “OK, that’s a thing I need to know. You can sing that way. That’s really f–king useful.” For example, I now know to say, “Em, we’re going Feral Cat Mode.” And she knows what that sounds like! We’ve got shorthand now!
How much have you guys missed performing live?
Shinoda: I don’t miss it at all, because we do it every day.
Armstrong: Every day.
Shinoda: Every day! It’ll be nice to do it in front of people, though.
Armstrong: God, I can’t wait. I’m at that point where I’m like, “OK, we’ve done this enough. I’m ready.”
Shinoda: I think you are. It’s funny, because we’ve been rehearsing with basically just the road crew, and then the other day, we had some of [our] families visit, came over with the kids. And they were in the room, and you turned it up. You went 95% show mode. And I was like, “If that’s what happens when you put 10 people in a room, I can’t wait until we have a lot more people in the room.”
As we were working out the songs, we had to pitch some stuff, to change the key so that it’s in Emily’s target register. We had to relearn songs that we’ve been playing live for 20 years in order to do that, and it’s such a mindf–k! (Laughs.) It’s so hard! My brain is just having a really hard time with a couple of songs.
Armstrong: Imagine 50 songs with that feeling! (Laughs.)
Shinoda: Yeah, for you and Colin, it’s a whole other thing. And Colin is a very organized thinker — he sent me a text, like, “Hey, here’s a YouTube video of you guys playing this song in 2015, and you did the outro this way. And then in 2017, Rob changed it and played it that way, but that’s different than the record, right? So could you tell me which one I should play?” And I was like, “Uhhh, dude, I’m trying to relearn ‘Breaking the Habit’ in a new key! Which way do you want to play it?”
The other cool thing that I noticed is that we didn’t have to change gender in any of the lyrics. In the whole f–king catalog! All the singles, all the songs, and we didn’t have to change any words. And that’s great — I feel so lucky.
How often do you guys think about your fans’ reactions and expectations? There’s going to be a ton of excitement.
Shinoda: I think that we expect that every single person will love it, there will be no haters at all, the fan base will only grow, and that all the numbers will go up!
Armstrong: That’s lowballing it.
Shinoda: (Laughs.) With every album we’ve put out since our first record, there were expectations. There are no expectations on the first record, and the second record on, there are always expectations, and we’ve always been realistic about those. We know that there will always be a wide variety of opinions and reactions, but when we release something, it’s because it’s ready to be released, we’re proud of it, we’re happy with where we’re at, and we feel like it’s the best snapshot of the band in the current moment. And as the reactions come in, our door just stays open, because as a music listener, sometimes I hear things and go, “That’s terrible,” and the next thing I know, I keep coming back to it and I love it.
Are you playing it by ear after this album and tour, or are you already thinking about new songs and creative projects? How are you thinking long term?
Farrell: I think everybody might have a different answer. I’ve just been in this mode of not getting ahead of myself. I’m so good at living in tomorrow — I excel at that. I’ve been intentional as much as possible about taking one step at a time with what we’re doing with the band. And having said that, if it continues as it already feels and is going, I’ve got endless energy to put back into it. I’m sure we’re going to do some hard touring in 2025, and I’m sure that we’ll want to catch our breath, take a second, regroup, reflect. But if it keeps going as it has, I’d be very excited to reinvest and see what our next steps are.
Armstrong: It feels like we got into such a good rhythm toward the end of [recording] the album. I feel like there’s more, and that it’d be cool to continue. And also, getting to play live, you get to see a lot more, obviously, but I learn a lot on the road, especially with a band.
Shinoda: Yeah, that’s a great point — the learning on the road part, because you get the reactions to the songs and can go, “Oh, these things work really well live.” And as we were going back through the record today, I was thinking about how we learned about your voice and how it works, and how you work. And I think there’s lots of untapped stuff that I haven’t tried, and I always love that. Of all the albums that we’ve made, each time I go into it looking for what we haven’t done, what stone we can turn over. Sometimes it’s just stuff that I’m curious about, and other times it’s stuff that somebody else in the band is just obsessed with. So we’ll see what happens, after we get through this next chapter and go back in to make something new.
Linkin Park
James Minchin III