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MarÍa Becerra announced a break from social media on July 30 amid the European run of her world tour. Despite positioning herself at the forefront of Latin pop over the past year — including scoring her first two No. 1s on the Billboard Argentina Hot 100 and selling out River Plate Stadium in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in record time — the 24-year-old simultaneously needed a hiatus from the scrutiny that she, and many of her peers, face online every day.
“I understand that social media is necessary for our careers,” she says. “But the limit is reached when they start taking away my joy.”
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Why did you decide to take a social media break?
It was doing me wrong to read so much hate — I was really affected by comments that only had the intention to harm [me]. The attack on women’s bodies who are part of the [music] scene is constant: If I’m too skinny, if I’ve had a boob job, if I train too much, how I do my makeup, how I dress… We struggle internally trying to please everyone without losing our own identity. Do you know how draining that is? Then, I said, “Enough. I’m tired, this hurts.” Instead of enjoying a tour that I dreamed so much about, I was suffering because of someone who writes from behind a screen.
What advice would you give to artists who feel similarly?
I’m currently in the process of learning to take care of myself. Going to therapy is beneficial for me; it helps me to think about what my limits are, what I want to share about my private life and what I want to keep for myself. I am a public figure, and those who listen to my music expect to know about me and see me beyond the shows. With my team, we seek a balance so that this ecosystem functions.
How could the entertainment industry better support artists?
I don’t know if [the problem] is the music industry. Everything I said before about what’s expected of female artists affects our self-esteem and puts an overexertion [on us] that ultimately generates a very large emotional imbalance. But the social media phenomenon has produced something where everyone needs to give their opinions. People express whatever they want, whenever they want, and while I greatly respect freedom of speech, this has turned into both a personal and social compulsion.
What can be done to create more open discussions on this topic in the industry?
The problem is not about talking; it’s what we do about it. How do we raise awareness of what is going on? What tools do people have to ask for help? I have the privilege of being able to pay for a psychologist, a health plan. But what about young people who are victims of cyberbullying and have no one to turn to? Who helps them? Talking about this in the media with responsibility could be a start, but I don’t have the formula. I’m just now learning to take care of myself and protect myself, and all of that is a long process.
This story appears in the Sept. 28, 2024, issue of Billboard.
This summer, singer-songwriter Yeison Jimenez achieved his lifelong dream of selling out the coveted Movistar Arena in Bogotá, Colombia — not once, but three times, with more than 40,000 collective fans attending the shows. The feat was not only historic for Jimenez, but for any música popular (regional Colombian) artist. “No one in the genre has been able to [sell out] a solo arena throughout Colombia,” he says.
Música popular — which fuses ranchera and the string music known as carrilera in Colombia — was born more than five decades ago in the country’s coffee region, which has four departments: Caldas (where Jimenez was born), Quindío, Risaralda and Tolima. Initially known as música de carrilera or música de cantina, its inspiration derived from regional Mexican music and first gained traction in small towns and local bars with the help of genre pioneers including Darío Gómez, Luis Alberto Posada and El Charrito Negro.
As Jimenez tells it, música popular traces back to Gómez in particular. The former notes that when the latter arrived at radio stations with the newborn fusion in the ’70s, they told him he was crazy.
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“This is not like vallenato, which is something authentically ours — we did not invent this,” música popular singer Pipe Bueno says. “We are a subgenre that comes from Mexico but with our essence and our flavor. The fact that we are Colombian gives it a different color.”
Lyrically, a regional Colombian song will often focus on despecho (heartbreak) or rejoicing in good times. Sonically, the arrangements can mirror the instrumentation of mariachi and ranchera music, such as trumpets, violins and the guitarrón (six-string acoustic bass), blended with the accordion, commonly used in vallenato.
As part of the new wave, Bueno and Jimenez — alongside artists including Paola Jara, Luis Alfonso, Jessi Uribe and Arelys Henao — have not only given the genre a modern twist but also propelled it to an international scale. Jimenez first reached Billboard’s Latin Airplay and Regional Mexican Airplay charts with “Tu Amante” in 2021, and he’s now touring nightclubs and theaters across the United States. Bueno, who entered the Latin Digital Song Sales and Latin Rhythm Airplay charts with his 2014 song “La Invitación” (featuring Maluma), has since collaborated with Grupo Firme and inked a deal with Warner Music Latina earlier this year.
“We are an aspirational genre,” Bueno says. “We have been at the top of the streaming charts alongside Peso Pluma. We are filling arenas. It wasn’t like this [when I started my career].”
“When we came into the game, we wanted to make music that would reach other countries and, above all, other generations,” Jimenez adds. “On one hand, there’s a lot of admiration. On the other hand, we are criticized a bit… I don’t pigeonhole myself because we are in another era.”
This story appears in the Sept. 28, 2024, issue of Billboard.
While recording his latest album, Eden, Eden Muñoz landed himself in the emergency room a whopping four times, all to monitor his fast-beating heart. “I consider myself a relatively healthy person,” the Mexican singer-songwriter says today, still sounding a bit perplexed by the situation. “It wasn’t stress — I know stress.”
After consulting multiple cardiologists, Muñoz visited one more (who was also a good friend) and finally got his answer: He was told that the process of making Eden proved too energizing. “It was a type of excitement that didn’t let me sleep because it felt like I was wasting time,” he recalls. “I needed to be in the studio.”
And though the hospital trips were nerve-racking, Muñoz welcomed the excitement — it was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in relation to music in a long time. Since launching his solo career two years ago after more than a decade fronting Calibre 50, he has enjoyed a whole range of new emotions. Most importantly, Muñoz says, “I know what it feels like to be happy again.”
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The 34-year-old first entered the scene in the early 2010s as Calibre 50’s lead singer, accordionist and songwriter. The group — which became one of the most successful norteño bands of all time — placed seven No. 1s on Billboard’s Regional Mexican Albums chart and landed more than 20 No. 1s on Regional Mexican Airplay. Despite the success, Muñoz felt something was off — and was craving more.
He announced his departure from Calibre 50 in early 2022 and, soon after, launched his solo career. “I was very limited as part of a group,” he says. “I felt that I could give a lot more at the production level.” As it turns out, making music on his own terms proved fruitful. Over the past two years, Muñoz has scored four top 10s on the Regional Mexican Airplay chart, including the title track to 2023’s Como en los Viejos Tiempos, which topped the list. He has also placed five entries on Hot Latin Songs, including a top 10 hit with his debut solo single, “Chalé!”
Edén Muñoz photographed on Sep. 7, 2024 at Old National Centre in Indianapolis.
Anna Powell Denton
Yet it’s Eden, released in August, that Muñoz feels most proud of. “I had been pleasing others for so many years that it was only fair that I do what makes me happy for a change,” he says. “This album reflects that transition.”
Eden arrived as Muñoz’s second album on Sony Music Mexico, which he signed with last year in a partnership with Sony Music Latin, and his third full-length since launching his solo career. The project spans 15 songs on which Muñoz fuses the traditional banda and norteño sound that have characterized his music with genres that have also shaped his musical palette: bachata, country and rock’n’roll.
While mashing up música mexicana with other styles would have been frowned upon by purists just a few years ago, when it mainly catered to an older audience, the decades-old genre is now reaching a new generation of listeners, thanks to a wave of young Mexican and Mexican American hit-makers who have embraced a more nuanced approach. By modernizing lyrics and borrowing from genres including trap, hip-hop and country, regional Mexican music has earned the approval of Gen Z — and Muñoz is leaning in.
“When I was creating this album, I broke out of my comfort zone to rebuild myself,” he says. “This album served as an exercise to see how far I can go and where I draw the line so it doesn’t go outside of Mexican music. It was like creating the perfect salad with a balance of protein and carbohydrates.”
Edén Muñoz photographed on Sep. 7, 2024 at Old National Centre in Indianapolis.
Anna Powell Denton
Now, with Eden behind him, Muñoz’s heart is at peace. “I have my studio, a little lake next to us where I go fishing, and I love to cook. I have everything here,” he says of his home in Mazatlán, a resort city in Sinaloa, Mexico, where he lives with his wife and children when he’s not on tour. (His Como en los Viejos Tiempos U.S. trek began in August.)
His newfound creative freedom hasn’t only benefited the music, but has altered his perspective, too. “I know I’m not at No. 1, and I probably never will be, and that’s cool,” he says. “I feel f–king great. I do what I want. I work with the people I want to work with. I’ve matured. That, to me, is being in my prime.”
This story appears in the Sept. 28, 2024, issue of Billboard.
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.’ ”
Ruven Afanador
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.
Music industry veteran Rebeca León, who has helped guide Latin music and culture into the mainstream and up the charts, is the recipient of the Latin Power Players’ Choice Award, which is an accolade chosen by Billboard Pro subscribers.
As founder and CEO of artist management company Lionfish Entertainment and film/TV studio Lionfish Studios, León helms a roster that includes Brazilian superstar Anitta, Venezuelan singer-songwriter Danny Ocean, rising Spanish act st. Pedro and Venezuelan reggaetón LGBTQ+ artist La Cruz. The Miami-based León also oversaw the rise of global stars like Colombia’s J Balvin and Juanes, as well as Spain’s Rosalía, whom León developed from an unknown flamenco artist.
León says working with artists she believes in is an honor and a privilege that “gives me hope for the future of music.” To that end, León and Pharrell Williams have partnered on the creation of a bicultural U.S. Latin boy band that’s set to debut this fall. Meanwhile, Lionfish Studios focuses on work that draws on León’s Cuban heritage with projects including the 2022 Father of the Bride remake starring Gloria Estefan and Andy Garcia, which was produced alongside Jeremy Kleiner of Plan B. Projects in development include one with Keshet Studios and Apple.
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Lionfish’s success follows León’s 25-plus-year career, which has included over a decade in the touring business as senior vp for Goldenvoice and positions at labels including Sony Music and EMI.
While León, who lives in Miami Beach with her three dogs, calls herself “naturally shy and reserved,” in the case of this year’s Latin Power Players’ Choice Award, she feels a responsibility to step into the spotlight. “This moment is bigger than me,” she says. “We’re in a time where women’s rights are being challenged, and there are those who want to take us backward. That is simply not acceptable.” She expresses gratitude for the recognition and for a platform “to say, without a doubt, we are never going back. This is for my nieces and all the young girls out there: Never let anyone tell you what you can or cannot do — whether with your body or your mind.”
Being voted into this position by the music industry community, she adds, “means the world to me, to have the respect of my peers, which include so many people that I admire so much.”
This story appears in the Sept. 28, 2024, issue of Billboard.
The first time George Prajin took Peso Pluma shopping for a music video, they didn’t see eye to eye. “I wanted him to go John Varvatos rock’n’roll, and he wanted to go to Burberry,” Prajin recalls. Considering that the video would also feature regional Mexican artist Luis R Conriquez for their 2022 collaboration, “Siempre Pendientes,” “I was like, ‘I don’t know about that,’ ” he adds. But, as Prajin proudly admits of the all-plaid ensemble (complete with bucket hat) that Peso insisted upon (and which perfectly contrasted with the gritty desert setting), “He was right — and after that I learned not to go against him.”
That implicit trust now goes both ways — and Prajin, 52, has earned it. As the son of Antonino Z. Prajin — who owned Prajin One Stop, a music retailer and distributor that sold to over 3,000 stores across the United States and Mexico and had more than 20 warehouses throughout Southern California in its 1980s and ’90s heyday — the music business has always been in his blood. “Some people do what they love. Some people are born into a trade. I got the best of both worlds,” he says, speaking in a green room at the Honda Center in Anaheim, Calif., hours before a recent Peso Pluma show there.
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After graduating from University of California, Los Angeles in the mid-’90s, Prajin founded the independent label Z Records, which scored early success with Jessie Morales (known as El Original de la Sierra), an Angeleno who loved West Coast rap and Mexican music and who ruled Billboard’s Top Latin Albums chart with his Homenaje a Chalino Sánchez in 2001. But when physical record sales plummeted, Prajin One Stop shuttered in the late 2000s — and so did Z Records. “It was hard to make money with music during that period of time,” he recalls. “And so, I got disillusioned. I got a little depressed — but I tried to stay very close to music.”
Prajin went on to earn a degree from Southwestern University School of Law, becoming a sports and entertainment attorney and establishing his own practice while producing music on the side — and retaining ownership of the Z Records catalog. But in 2008, thanks to his love of MMA (and friendship with fighter Tito Ortiz), he entered an entirely new world: the Ultimate Fighting Championship. Prajin spent the next decade-plus focused on representing UFC’s top talent as an agent and a manager, earning a reputation as a master negotiator. “It’s educating yourself on the deal and being two steps ahead — and knowing what you’re asking for is valid,” he says.
By 2019, Prajin — who had continued to do music business work even as he dove into the UFC world — and his practice were negotiating “massive deals” for record labels. At the same time, he noticed a catalog-driven uptick in Z Records’ revenue and, on the advice of his law partner, Anthony Lopez, reentered the industry, launching Prajin Parlay in 2021. “I was looking for something that had nothing to do with any of the clients I was representing, and I started going back into the ’90s,” he says. And so, with the new Prajin Parlay, he soon helped launch Época Pesada (a group of corrido giants who were then in their 40s) and revive the career of Lupillo Rivera.
Soon, Prajin was again focusing on music full time, and his first major signing (in partnership with Grand Records) was Mexican singer-songwriter (and future star) Junior H. But it was an early management signee who would define his storied career — and help him emerge as one of Latin music’s most powerful and admired executives.
When Prajin first met Peso Pluma (born Hassan Emilio Kabande Laija) in 2019, thanks to an introduction from his former client Morales, the then-unknown artist was walking around Prajin Parlay Studioz in Anaheim playing guitar. “I was really intrigued by him,” Prajin recalls with a far-off look in his eyes. Morales was trying to help the young artist find management to no avail; given that Prajin himself had just reentered the industry, he, too, initially passed.
Morales’ father, Herminio Morales, signed the future superstar, but soon became too ill to work. And so, by 2022, the offer was back on the table — and this time, Prajin said yes. (Herminio, who is healthy today, remains involved in Peso’s career.) “I [waited until I] felt like I could really put up my sleeves and do what I do best,” Prajin explains.
George Prajin photographed backstage at Intuit Dome in Inglewood, Calif., on Aug. 20, 2024.
Chris Polk
Apparently, that was developing a global groundbreaker who has repeatedly made Billboard chart history while helping to elevate música mexicana from “the genre that has always taken a back seat,” as Prajin puts it, to the forefront of the mainstream.
“I’m not going to take all the credit because [label] Rancho Humilde, Natanael Cano, Junior H and all these other artists brought something that first, second and third generations of Mexicans born in the United States were lacking,” Prajin says. “But Hassan took that road and connected it to the international highway.”
Prajin now admits that when he first met Peso he was a bit confused. “I couldn’t tell what type of artist he was,” he says. “I thought he was a rapper, or was he a rocker? [The last] thing I thought of was a corridos singer. When we first started talking, he told me he wanted to do reggaetón. He wanted to do everything.” (Prajin even had him record a Pink Floyd song “to see if he trusted me.”)
“I said, ‘I love that, that’s what I want, but I’ve been doing this for 20 years, and it’s tough,’ ” Prajin continues, noting how in the past he’d only had fleeting success with rappers recording over banda beats. But, critically, Peso didn’t want to blend anything; he wanted to own every clearly marked lane he explored.
Together, they made a plan “to focus on his core audience, regional Mexican, and really build that. And at the same time, reach out and get a feel of these other genres and take it from there.” And they’ve done just that. In 2022, Peso made his Hot Latin Songs debut with “El Belicón,” with Raúl Vega. The following year, he scored the most entries on the chart of any regional Mexican act — and his team-up with Eslabon Armado, “Ella Baila Sola,” became the first regional Mexican song to enter the top five on the Billboard Hot 100 (where Peso has now charted 31 songs).
Peso’s third album, 2023’s Génesis, scored the highest placement on the Billboard 200 for a música mexicana album ever, debuting at No. 3. This year’s Éxodo double album also debuted in the top five, and for its second half, Peso enlisted several nonregional heavy hitters including Cardi B, Quavo, Anitta and DJ Snake. In August, Peso scored one of his biggest features yet, replacing Bad Bunny on Ye and Ty Dolla $ign’s “Drunk,” off the new deluxe version of Vultures 2. (“He couldn’t believe it,” Prajin says, “because they’re so mysterious. They don’t even tell us until the song is released.”) Lately, Peso has been walking onstage to Black Sabbath; Prajin thinks he could do a rock album one day.
Their relationship has now expanded beyond just music to include Double P, Peso’s imprint through Prajin Parlay Records that launched in April 2023. (Prajin is the imprint’s co-founder and COO.) By December, Double P had signed a distribution deal with The Orchard, and in August, the label’s publishing division signed a global administration deal with Downtown.
Today, Double P’s roster boasts a tight-knit crew that shares talent — and Peso’s friendship. As CEO and head of A&R, Peso has strategically signed Mexican music acts Vega, Jasiel Nuñez, Tito Double P (Peso’s cousin and one of his co-writers) and Los Dareyes de la Sierra, among others.
“We’re building a team and going together, and that’s what I love about Hassan,” Prajin says. “Jasiel Nuñez was a friend. They made a deal — whoever makes it first is going to pull the other guy with him, and [Hassan] did that. He pulled him with him on tour. We’ve signed him. That’s their philosophy. We’re a real community.”
Plus, as Prajin says, having Peso as a partner helps him stay on top of his management game, too. “Because you really want to give the attention to Hassan, but then you don’t want to sign other artists and not give them the attention that they deserve… He’s always like, ‘Hey, make sure that everybody’s getting the attention that they need, too.’ ”
And as Prajin Parlay has proved over time, one rising tide can indeed lift all boats. In 2023, it finished atop the year-end Hot Latin Songs Publishers chart — Prajin proudly displays the trophy at his house next to his Grammy (honoring Génesis as best música mexicana album [including Tejano] at the 2024 awards). “One of the reasons why we won that publisher of the year award is [because of] Tito Double P,” Prajin says, crediting his songwriting savvy. “[He] then developed as an artist, and today, we released his first album.
“We’re providing those label services, and we’re doing it inclusive of the same management fee that any other manager would charge,” he continues. “A lot of people tell me that’s a crazy notion, but we’re not going to get rich or poor overnight.”
That same thought process led Prajin to restructure Peso’s five-year record and management deal just nine months in. Prajin had seen his early client Jessie Morales make a healthy living off music, only to end up “on hard luck,” and he never forgot it. “I always told myself, especially when I was practicing law, that if I had the chance to do this again, I would teach [artists] to not only be wary of how they spend their money, but to also build their own team. Have their own lawyer, have their own CPA. I want them to make sure that going forward, whatever they do in their lives, they’re going to make the right financial decisions. I fought hard for [Peso] to have his own [attorney in] Mexico. He has his own CPA. And then he has a person that audits the CPA.
“When I saw him making the kind of money that he was making… The artists should be the ones seeing the benefits, and that’s why we changed our deal,” Prajin continues. “I restructured it and made him a partner in Double P. It’s the right thing to do — and just one of the few times in life that something good turns into something great, because we’re killing it.”
Prajin, who is warm and attentive, says his father’s own “big heart” inspires him as an executive. “His kindness, his generosity, those are the things that have [helped me excel],” he says. “You could be a shark. But I don’t think those guys last too long. It’s all about networks. Right? I think a lot of the things that we accomplished were because I was able to pick up the phone and reach out to anyone. Everything comes full circle.”
And Prajin Parlay’s betting-inspired name tells its own full-circle story: Prajin has often said when something works, he doubles down. In the years to come, he says he’s “doubling down on everything” — beginning with Double P Records, saying the label is in the middle of completing a business transaction that will allow it to “really double down.”
“Double P Records and Prajin Parlay in five years are going to be a global brand,” he says, noting that in the next year or so he hopes to open offices and a recording studio in Madrid. He also has plans to grow the management roster and maybe even acquire other catalogs or companies. He’s also considering a sports division: “We’ve talked about it, yes,” Prajin says, adding that he and Peso are both fans of combat sports, and even share a boxing coach.
He admits that as a manager, what takes up most of his time each day is “trying to make everyone happy… I’m constantly trying to make sure everybody takes vacations, has their personal lives. You know, I’ve lived my life, I haven’t had any kids. I’ve devoted myself to my artists and to my athletes. And am I going to regret it down the road? I might. So I always tell people, ‘Think about yourself, too. This job isn’t your only focus.’ ”
Fortunately, Peso has been planning ahead for quite some time. The artist has long admired Jay-Z, and Prajin believes Peso is already following in the rapper’s footsteps to becoming a mogul himself. As for Prajin, he says his five-year plan looks a lot like an exit route, before laughing through a nervous smile: “No, I’m just kidding.”
He mentions how the other day, he and Peso were reminiscing when the artist told him, “You changed my life.”
“He changed my life as well,” Prajin says. “He’s allowed me to love music again, and also reach a lot of the goals I made for myself that I thought had passed.”
This story appears in the Sept. 28, 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 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.”
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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.
When “Big Dawgs,” the riotous song by Indian rapper Hanumankind and producer Kalmi, began spreading across the world in July, its creators couldn’t fully appreciate its impact. Despite sites like YouTube and Reddit signaling the song’s crossover appeal, Hanumankind and his team were largely in the dark about its impact on TikTok — including the more than 1 million posts using the track to date — since India banned the platform in 2020.
“We’re hearing about this going crazy, but we can’t wrap our heads around [it],” Hanumankind tells Billboard. “We’re sitting at home like, ‘I guess this is happening. Let’s strap in.’ ”
Born Sooraj Cherukat in India’s southern state of Kerala, Hanumankind was a self-described “child of chaos.” His family bounced around the globe with his father working in the oil sector, making stops in Nigeria, Qatar, Dubai and Egypt before moving to Houston in the early 2000s during his formative years.
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“Houston has a way of shaping a person,” he says, wearing a No. 34 Hakeem Olajuwon Houston Rockets throwback jersey. “Whether you talk about UGK or DJ Screw, you hear it in everything. It was important to be there and absorb so much of that.”
Hanumankind
Samrat Nagar
Talking over Zoom, the 32-year-old has photos of 2Pac, MF DOOM and The Notorious B.I.G. in his living room — but even with his vast hip-hop knowledge, he says his parents hoped he would pursue “a real job and build a career.” He moved back to India for college in 2012, and after graduating, he burned through jobs at Goldman Sachs and different marketing agencies while living like “a f–king idiot.” (Upon turning 30, he temporarily gave up drinking entirely. Nowadays, he says, he drinks in moderation.)
Still, rapping largely remained a party trick he’d pull out at gatherings. But things changed in late 2019 following a performance at the NH7 Weekender Festival in India, pulling inspiration for his stage name from religion. (Hanuman is the half-monkey, half-man Hindu God of wisdom, strength and courage.)
“There was a mob of people running over from different areas, like, ‘Who the f–k is this guy?’” he remembers. “[After] that set, I was like, ‘This feels like something I can do. I just want to do something that gives me purpose. Am I decent at this? Can I make money off this? Cool.’ That’s all I needed.”
A year later, Hanumankind signed a management deal with Imaginary Frnds’ founder Rohan Venkatesh, with the company’s Abhimanyu Prakash helping as part of the management team. “He charmed the pants off me when I met him,” says Prakash. Adds Venkatesh, who first met the rapper backstage in 2018: “I knew this could go global. I believed in the art from day one.”
Hanumankind spent the next few years as an independent artist, releasing a pair of EPs and a handful of singles before his team decided to explore the major-label route, ultimately signing with Def Jam India at the start of 2023. “They were so ready to help us from day one,” says Prakash. “We’ve had this moment, and they’ve been pillars for us in figuring out how to grow it.”
Hanumankind
Samrat Nagar
That January, Hanumankind released the twitchy “Go to Sleep” — but nothing else for the year. With time ticking on his next move, he hopped on a Zoom in early 2024 with frequent collaborator Kalmi while living in Bengaluru. They began with a creative exercise they’d done before: Kalmi would queue up a beat for Hanumankind to rap on and they’d build an idea from whatever came out. “We didn’t want boundaries on us, and the minute [I heard the] beat, I was like, ‘Oh s–t.’”
After taking a liking to the engine-revving production and bristling synths, the hook came next, followed by the first verse. Within 30 minutes, the basic structure for “Big Dawgs” was set. “Instantly, this flow came in,” Hanumankind says, though he admits he began to overanalyze it. “I didn’t think it was a single at all — this song just came to be as a byproduct of being f–king weird, experimental folks.”
But Kalmi and Venkatesh changed his mind. “We knew this was the one instantly, there was a shock value to it,” Venkatesh says. “[Kalmi and I] went for a drive and played it four or five times. Next morning, we called Hanumankind and convinced him to drop.”
Kalmi tightened up the production, adding the chopped-and-screwed element to the song’s outro, and Hanumankind tacked on a second verse. On July 9, “Big Dawgs” arrived on streaming services.
Instead of a traditional marketing budget, Hanumankind’s team allocated much of their financial resources to the music video, which arrived the next day and opened the world’s eyes to a popular Indian spectacle known as the “Well of Death.” Two-stroke engine bikes and vintage cars whiz around in circles on the walls of a vertical pit, testing the limits of gravity — and in the video, Hanumankind even hangs out the window of one of the cars. “It was more of a culture shock for people, which was a unique selling point for us,” says Venkatesh. To date, the video has more than 116 million YouTube views.
Within a few days, Hanumankind realized the reception to “Big Dawgs” was different than any prior work, as it started extending well beyond India and into popular American music. “American hip-hop makes the world react. But this is the first time a lot of people were like, ‘There’s this video coming out of India,’” he says. Popular streamers like IShowSpeed and No Life Shaq reacted to the hit across social media platforms, boosting its visibility to another level.
By mid-August, “Big Dawgs” debuted on the Billboard Hot 100 at No. 57; two weeks later, it reached a No. 23 high. The hit has also topped the R&B/Hip-Hop Digital Song Sales chart and to date has earned 72 million official on-demand U.S. streams and 288.5 million official on-demand global streams through Sept. 5, according to Luminate.
“Everything came in a huge tidal wave,” says Hanumankind. “I feel like someone’s going to slap me in the face and wake me up.” Its reception has indeed been a dream for the rapper: both Project Pat and Bun B separately joined him on Instagram Live — in “Big Dawgs,” the former receives a name check and Hanumankind interpolates a lyric from UGK’s “Int’l Players Anthem” to pay homage to the latter.
Hanumankind is now eager to perform outside of India, and in September signed with Wasserman Music. He also plans to release a remix for “Big Dawgs” with an American rapper, though specifics on who or when are unknown. And while a debut album isn’t ready just yet, he’s still basking in what his breakthrough hit represents.
“I am just the tip of the iceberg of what can come from this side of the world,” he says. “If some random dude from India can make music and shoot a cool video that pops off, it allows people to dream a little harder.”
A version of this story will appear in the Sept. 28, 2024, issue of Billboard.
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 black jeans; a white, black and yellow-patterned button-down shirt; black boots; and a suede tejana adorned with feathers, he fits right in with the Instagram-ready aesthetic of the largely millennial crowd gathered here. The heavy silver chain resting on his chest is the only obvious signifier that Conriquez isn’t just another attendee of the inaugural Belicolandia: The singer-songwriter is one of today’s biggest corridos bélicos stars, and the thousands assembled here will soon see him close out the festival-like event produced by his label, Kartel Music.
As Conriquez makes his way to his trailer just behind the stage, an intimidating security detail follows — but the musician himself offers friendly smiles to everyone he encounters. Once settled inside the trailer, where he’ll spend the next hour or so, Conriquez really lets down his guard, cracking jokes with good friend Tony Aguirre about how early his fellow corridos singer (another Kartel signee) had performed that day. “That’s how we get along; it’s all jokes,” Conriquez says. “We like to have a good time.” The trailer becomes a revolving door as emerging and established regional Mexican artists alike pop in and out to say hello and snap a quick photo with, as Conriquez’s fans anointed him early in his career, the King of Corridos Bélicos. The moniker isn’t an overstatement: Since debuting in 2019, Conriquez has pioneered the Mexican subgenre that has gone global in the past couple of years thanks to him and peers like Peso Pluma.
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It’s been two years since Conriquez last performed at Pico Rivera, the ranch-like, 6,000-capacity multipurpose venue just 15 miles west of L.A. that has catered for decades to música mexicana fans. But even in that short time, much has changed for the Sonora, Mexico-born artist — who catapulted to stardom with his breakthrough hit, “El Buho” — as regional Mexican music has become the largest Latin subgenre in the United States, according to Luminate. Conriquez, who the then-new Kartel signed in 2019 at an audition in Mexicali, Baja California, is known for his corridos bélicos — a term he says he coined himself to describe the subgenre’s sound (not its lyrics, which often name-check Mexican drug kingpins or cartel figures, but are “less violent” than other corridos, Conriquez points out). “ ‘Bélico’ means that something has a lot of presence, and this music stands out thanks to instruments like the tololoche and charchetas,” he explains. “Now, it’s joined forces with corridos tumbados [which fuse the bélicos sound with trap and hip-hop], and that has made this movement even stronger.”
Conriquez, whose raw vocals and in-your-face delivery often sound closer to rapping than singing, has become a go-to collaborator for both regional Mexican acts and other Latin artists, including Nicky Jam, Ryan Castro and Peso Pluma, while dominating the Billboard charts. With 1.42 billion on-demand official streams in the United States, according to Luminate, he has 20 tracks on the Hot Latin Songs chart, and most recently scored his first Hot 100 entry with “Si No Quieres No,” a collaboration with up-and-comer Neton Vega. His Corridos Bélicos, Vol. IV, released in January, earned him his first entry and top 10 on any albums chart, debuting at No. 5 on Top Latin Albums and No. 3 on Regional Mexican Albums. It also became Conriquez’s Billboard 200 entrée with a No. 36 debut.
“That album is like The Last Supper,” he says, beaming with pride. Hyperbolic, but only a little: The set is packed with Mexican music heavy-hitters, bringing together two generations of corridos singers, from Gerardo Ortiz to Tito Double P (Peso Pluma’s cousin and go-to songwriter). “Everyone on that album is my friend,” Conriquez says confidently. “I had been planning this for a year because I wanted to bring artists from the past and current ones. Most of them I invited personally, others called me and asked to be a part of it. If I see you have talent and are a good person, I’ll give you a hand. I do it from my heart. It’s how I’ve always been.”
Martha Galvan
His journey to música mexicana’s top tier didn’t happen overnight. When Conriquez decided in his early 20s that he wanted to be a singer, he had no clue how to make that happen, since he didn’t come from a family of musicians or have a formal music education. But he let nothing stand in his way — not even the naysayers who told him he had no future in music. “I became my biggest fan,” he says. “I come from a family that knows how to have a good time. My mom and dad were always playing music. I grew up listening to corridos and reggaetón. I remember I’d put on my headphones when I was going to sleep and when I woke up, music was still playing in my ears,” he adds with a big smile.
Conriquez began writing corridos around 2017, given the subgenre’s popularity in Sonora, and offered one of his early compositions to a neighborhood camarada (friend) to sing. “Then I was like, ‘Wait, let me try singing it,’ ” he recalls. “I got excited about myself; I knew there was something there, so I kept writing.”
He recorded his first corridos with his guitarist friend Daniel “El Bocho” Ruiz (now a key member of Conriquez’s band), but he wasn’t sure where to go from there — until he came across the YouTube channel of a teen who uploaded videos by other artists. “I contacted him and he uploaded my music, and then people started asking who was singing,” Conriquez says. “It was working.”
Soon after, he started getting DMs on Instagram from an unlikely group of fans. “Some construction workers in the United States wrote me asking if I would write corridos for them,” he says. An unusual request, maybe, but not one Conriquez questioned; after all, it was a source of income. “I asked them to send me a short summary describing themselves so I could get inspired,” he continues. “I’d write, record and send it to them.” Initially, he charged $150 per corrido, but as demand grew, he tripled his fee. “I was my own manager at the time, my own distributor, collecting my own money,” he explains. “I did everything on my own for almost two years. Until I met Freddy and Leo from Kartel Music.”
Alfredo “Freddy” Becerra and Leonardo Soto have known each other since childhood. Both grew up in a trailer park in Santa Maria, an agricultural hub in California’s Central Coast region, and their parents worked picking strawberries. “We became friends because we both had the same mission,” Soto says. “It was the mentality of ‘What are we going to do for our families?’ ”
A few years before they launched Kartel Music, Becerra and Soto started Los Compas, a labor contracting company for agriculture work. But the budding entrepreneurs were looking to venture into other businesses, and they had always shared a love of music. They wanted to be part of the industry, despite not even knowing how it worked. “We weren’t looking to start a label,” Becerra says. “We wanted to be promoters because we felt that the labor contracting company gave us enough experience to try that out first.” But their first event, in 2019, was a total flop, he confesses. They had hired a few local bands for a show in Tijuana, and Becerra explains how they had a stage, tables, chairs, cold beer — almost everything. “The fans were missing,” he says. “No one showed up. We went back home feeling sad, and we said we’d never try this again unless we could handle every single detail, including having artists of our own.”
Luis R Conriquez photographed August 12, 2024 in Riverside, Calif.
Martha Galvan
So, afterward, Becerra and Soto asked the bands they knew to spread the word: They were holding auditions in Mexicali to find the first act for their just-founded label, Kartel Music — rather unconventional but fitting for their atypical approach to the industry. About 12 groups and soloists showed up — including Conriquez, who was then working at a Sonora gas station while writing and singing corridos on the side and had heard about the audition from a friend. “He was so confident onstage,” Soto remembers. He was also the only auditionee who performed originals — his bélico-flavored corridos. “Once he finished performing, we told him he had done a good job and that was pretty much it,” Soto adds. There wasn’t a formal pitch, he says, but both parties wanted to work with each other. Instead of signing a contract, they made a verbal pact to grow together.
Conriquez knew he’d stood out from the crowd. “Freddy and Leo were just starting but so was I,” he says. “It was all about trusting each other. They needed someone to help them grow and I knew I could help them. I would take care of the music; I understood how the business worked because I had been doing this for some time now. I just needed someone to support me.” His first ask of the duo: to buy him new clothes so he could record official videos.
“We took him a bunch of clothes that we bought at Ross [Dress for Less],” Soto says with a chuckle. “You’d be surprised how much we’ve evolved with him. We would go to Ross and Marshalls and show up with a stack of clothes and he’d get so excited because he didn’t have anything. He appreciated it.” Just a few weeks after the audition, they convened in Puerto Peñasco, Mexico, to shoot their first music video — and Becerra and Soto also brought a contract for Conriquez to sign. “But he didn’t even want to see it,” Soto says. “He just said, ‘I’m with you guys.’ ” (Conriquez eventually signed a contract and then some: Today, he’s also co-CEO of Kartel alongside Becerra and Soto; the label now has six other artists on its roster.)
Though Los Compas had no direct connection to the music business, it had been an essential precursor to Kartel. “The story really starts with Los Compas because that provided the money for us to do all of this,” Becerra says, explaining how he and Soto were able to buy Conriquez new instruments and rent studios for him to record in. “Without that first business we wouldn’t have been able to do this. [The money] we made in the labor contracting business would go toward Luis. We didn’t even enjoy ourselves — we put it all toward Kartel.”
During the pandemic, Conriquez and Kartel doubled down on releasing new songs, knowing people were stuck at home and listening to music. “The strategy we implemented of releasing new music constantly, like every week, is what helped him grow in numbers,” Soto says. “The consistency plays a big part. Luis has released a song every Friday since we began working together. For his birthday month, we took a song out every single day. It seems crazy but it’s worked for us.”
Martha Galvan
In 2019, the same year Kartel officially launched, Raymond Tapia, vp of A&R, Latin at Downtown Artist and Label Services, called Soto and Becerra. “I remember hearing [Conriquez’s] song ‘El Buho’ and I was like, ‘Who is this?’ I looked at the song credits and it was Kartel Music. I had never heard of them,” Tapia says. “They had a phone number on their Instagram page so I just cold-called them, and Leo picked up and I told him that I was interested in distributing their music worldwide. That led to a very long work relationship.”
While Downtown doesn’t exclusively distribute Conriquez’s music — Kartel prefers to work with multiple distributors so it can build relationships — the company did distribute Conriquez’s Corridos Bélicos, Vol. IV, his biggest album to date.
“Luis is in a unique space because he came just before the big boom,” Tapia says. “He’s in between two spaces, where he’s not part of the new wave and caters to an older crowd but also brings in the young listeners because of all the collabs he’s done with Eslabon Armado, Junior H and Peso Pluma.”
“I think we both share the thought that collaborating together helps take our music and Mexican culture even further,” Peso says of Conriquez. “[Him] setting that standard from the beginning helped raise our flag to where it is now and will continue to help us grow even more.”
After a streaming boost from “El Buho” and his second big hit, “Me Metí en el Ruedo,” Conriquez began performing small shows in Tijuana, Mexicali and other Mexican cities. Today, he’s selling out back-to-back dates at venues like Guadalajara’s Auditorio Telmex, which holds more than 11,000 people. His touring career stateside and abroad has also taken off. Later this year, he’ll perform at venues including Chicago’s 18,000-capacity Allstate Arena, and he’s set to take his Trakas World Tour to Colombia in November.
One day, he hopes to perform in Spain and Canada. “I don’t see this as a challenge anymore — it’s more like a goal,” he says, nodding to Mexican music’s new global appeal. While changing trends, emerging subgenres and a new generation of hit-makers have rocked música mexicana these past few years, Conriquez is confident he’ll maintain his relevancy. “You have to innovate and, at the same time, not lose your essence, but you do have to jump on the train. It’s why I’m still here.” A corridos singer through and through, last year he dabbled in reggaetón and dembow, proving his versatility. “If I knew how to speak English, I’d be singing in English too,” he jokes but then quickly adds in a more serious tone, “I wanted to record in those styles because I’m a fan. It’s something that feels natural because I grew up listening to that, too. It’s always about adapting because you just never know in music — one day you’re here and the next day you’re not.”
The video for Conriquez and Peso Pluma’s 2022 collaboration “Siempre Pendientes” has more than 40 million YouTube views. In it, the two carry semiautomatic rifles as they tell the story of a soldier who works for Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzmán, founder of the Sinaloa drug cartel. But shortly after its release, the video’s future on YouTube — along with Kartel Music’s entire channel — hung in the balance. As “Siempre Pendientes” began gaining momentum, the clip and Kartel’s channel disappeared from the platform.
“Everything about corridos was stricter then — it was more censored [on digital service providers],” Conriquez says, still visibly shaken by the incident. “And it also happened at a time [when] I was really growing. It’s something that really lowers your morale; it’s like you have everything, but then they try to slow you down. It was frustrating.” (YouTube did not respond to a request for comment by publication time.)
After a few emails to YouTube, Kartel Music was able to get the video and its channel back on the platform. But Conriquez isn’t the first artist — and probably won’t be the last — to face censorship for singing these kinds of songs. Long considered controversial, corridos have been banned from public performance in some Mexican states as cartel violence in the country continues to spiral.
“This censorship has followed regional Mexican music for many years but in reality, it reflects what happens every day in our environment,” says Rafael Valle, programming director of Guadalajara radio station La Ke Buena. “If the song says some word that is not allowed on the radio, obviously we modify the song, but we don’t censor it because that would mean not playing songs that people are constantly requesting. It’s important to note that we’ve also modified Bad Bunny songs because of explicit lyrics. So, it’s not exclusive to regional, but it’s the genre that has been mainly impacted by this stigma.”
Luis R Conriquez photographed August 12, 2024 in Riverside, Calif.
Martha Galvan
At his Pico Rivera show, Conriquez’s provocative corridos bélicos are what really get the crowd going — although his dembow and reggaetón tracks also had his fans perreando (twerking). “My show is like a roller coaster of emotions,” he says. “First you start with corridos and you get all riled up, then a romantic one that makes you fall in love, then a heartbreak one to make you remember your ex and then a dembow to get you dancing. I give the people what they want.”
He plans to keep doing just that — while also inspiring a new generation of regional Mexican singers and songwriters. “I tell the artists we’ve signed to Kartel to not be lazy, to release music constantly and to collaborate because it’ll give value to what they’re doing. I tell them because I care and I want them to grow,” Conriquez says. “The truth is that life has been very good to me. Everything I have wanted I have had through hard work, and I can’t slow down now.”
Billboard Latin Music Week is returning to Miami Beach on Oct. 14-18, with confirmed superstars including Gloria Estefan, Alejandro Sanz and Peso Pluma, among many others. For tickets and more details, visit Billboardlatinmusicweek.com.
When Alejandro Fernández takes the stage Sept. 14-15 at Las Vegas’ MGM Grand Garden Arena, it will mark his record 22nd year performing at one of the hottest music events in Sin City. But the event he has been playing for more than two decades isn’t a recurring casino or club residency — it’s Fiestas Patrias, the ever-growing weekend of programming celebrating El Grito de Dolores (when Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla’s call to arms ignited the Mexican War of Independence in 1810) and Mexican Independence Day, which are officially celebrated Sept. 15 and 16, respectively.
“Twenty-four years ago, I began what has become a tradition of celebrating Fiestas Patrias with the Latino community in Las Vegas,” the Mexican superstar tells Billboard. “I am proud to say it is now the biggest Mexican Independence Day celebration outside of Mexico and one of the most important single days of live Mexican music anywhere in the world.”
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Fiestas Patrias are celebrated throughout the United States and Mexico in big and small ways — but Las Vegas’ version has become the single biggest Fiestas Patrias weekend for live Mexican music anywhere, with thousands of visitors from around the globe, though mainly from Mexico. The Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority calls it “one of the largest sources of international visitation” for the city.
This year’s bookings include returning acts, such as Luis Miguel, Los Bukis (who currently have a residency at Dolby Live), Gloria Trevi, Banda MS, Grupo Firme and Emmanuel, and newcomers like Peso Pluma, Fuerza Regida, Ana Bárbara and Carín León, performing at venues throughout the city. And as in previous years, not all of them are Mexican: Urbano stars Nicky Jam and Arcángel, for example, will join Luis R Conriquez and Codiciado at the third annual Rumbazo festival, taking place at the Downtown Las Vegas Events Center Sept. 13-14 in partnership with Billboard.
But despite what it has become today, Las Vegas’ Fiestas Patrias origins weren’t particularly musical.
“In reality, it wasn’t born as a musical event but as a sporting event, when those big fights began, the great Mexican boxers,” says veteran tour promoter Henry Cárdenas, referring to the September 1992 match where Mexican Julio César Chávez famously beat Puerto Rican Héctor “Macho” Camacho for the WBC super lightweight belt. “Then they brought [musical] talent to join the party.”
This year, the boxing tradition continues with Mexican legend Canelo Álvarez putting his super middleweight titles on the line as he takes on Puerto Rican Edward Berlanga at the T-Mobile Arena on Sept. 14. But today music, not sports, is the driving force behind Las Vegas’ Fiestas Patrias celebration.
WBC Super Lightweight Champion Julio César Chávez (R) lands a right on challenger Héctor “Macho” Camacho in the first round of their September 12, 1992, fight in Las Vegas, NV.
CARLOS SCHIEBECK/AFP/Getty Images
For Luis Medina, executive producer/CEO of Uno Productions and a former manager of Julio Iglesias, the city’s Fiestas Patrias tradition dates back even further, to the late ’80s, when the Spanish star began coming to Vegas twice a year to perform a series of shows at Caesars Palace.
“Julio was perhaps primarily the one who opened Las Vegas to Latinos,” Medina says. “Then came [Mexicans] José José, Juan Gabriel, Vicente Fernández, those classics. And that process began.”
Little by little, he recalls, Las Vegas became a Latin artistic hotspot — and the city’s hospitality industry took note. “Many hotels were surprised that they were being left behind because all these movements were happening, and they were still studying us with a magnifying glass,” Medina says. “They thought it was only with Luis Miguel or Julio Iglesias or Vicente Fernández” that audiences would show up.
Eventually, the demand led not only the biggest hotels to book Mexican and Latin talent but also smaller venues and nightclubs. “This effervescence was created as a result of all these processes, and Las Vegas began to grow,” Medina says. “Today, the millions of dollars that drive our business is impressive and allows Las Vegas to live off the Latin market in the month of September.”
Hundreds of thousands of Mexicans travel from south of the border to celebrate their independence in Vegas; even a decade ago, more than 300,000 Mexicans came by air alone for the 2013 festivities, according to a Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority report. And, Cárdenas adds, most of them have good purchasing power. “When you are coming to Las Vegas to celebrate from Mexico, there are other additional costs — the hotel, the tickets, the food, the good life, the partying. And that patron has distinguished himself because he is high class, and he comes prepared to celebrate … and attend at least three or four events that weekend,” he says.
“The people, culture and traditions of Mexico have made a significant impact on the city both on and off the Strip,” says Molly Castano, Las Vegas Convention and Visitors Authority president of public relations and communications, adding that “the celebrations that take place in honor of Fiestas Patrias are proof of that impact and connection.”
As for Alejandro Fernández, his Fiestas Patrias Vegas bookings have only grown: In 2022, his show went from one to two sold-out nights at the 17,000-capacity MGM Grand Garden Arena.
“He was the first artist that we worked with that wanted to create his special weekend in Las Vegas, and there’s nothing more mexicano than La Familia Fernández,” says Emily Simonitsch, senior vp of West Coast booking at Live Nation. “I think it’s impactful because he does the traditional celebration halfway through the show, celebrating the tradition of El Grito and Independencia with the flag and the bells and the dancers. So that’s what created it. That’s what El Grito is about.”
“This is a demonstration of the cultural influence and economic power of the Latino community in the U.S.,” Fernández adds. “I look forward to continuing the tradition for many years to come, representing my pride and love for Mexico, our people and our music.”
This story appears in Billboard‘s Rumbazo special issue, dated Sept. 14, 2024.