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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.
In April, “Gata Only,” a sly reggaetón number about flirting online, gave Chilean newcomers FloyyMenor and Cris MJ their first No. 1 on a Billboard chart. It dominated Hot Latin Songs for 14 consecutive weeks — but even beyond that impressive achievement, “Gata Only” was historic. The last time a Chilean artist had hit No. 1 on the chart was in 1991, when singer-songwriter Myriam Hernández’s “Te Pareces Tanto a Él” ruled for four weeks.
“Gata Only” also entered the Billboard Hot 100, Latin Airplay and both Billboard Global charts — and, in the process, put Chile’s thriving urban movement on the map. “The song touched different angles,” says Adrian Mainou, artist marketing manager of Latin/U.S. at UnitedMasters, which released the song. “It had a very cool impact on the culture, where the lyrics talk about something that’s relatable to the younger generation, and it was catchy on TikTok. For us on the marketing side, it was about taking the record outside of Chile.”
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Taking advantage of the song’s organic local growth, Mainou began working with a Chilean press team and engaging influencers in countries such as Argentina, Ecuador and Mexico to use the song in lip-syncing and dance challenges on TikTok. It worked: “Gata Only” has been used in over 4 million videos on the platform, and that spurred superstars Ozuna and Anitta to jump on a remix. “Chile felt proud,” Mainou says. “It translated from just being a big song to a cultural representation.”
In the ’90s and early ’00s, Chile’s music scene leaned more alternative, as artists like Mon Laferte, La Ley, Álex Anwandter and rapper Ana Tijoux all had presences on the Billboard charts. Then, in 2004, Puerto Rico’s booming reggaetón scene infiltrated the South American country — but although local artists began to create their own reggaetón music, it took more than a decade for Chile’s urban movement to really gain momentum.
“Everything changed in 2019,” explains Josue Ibañez, who with his brother Oscar is co-CEO of Chile-based label Wild Company. (Both are also A&R executives with Rimas Publishing.) “There are various artists who made the change, like Marcianeke, who made Chilean music start to be heard in clubs, but in a massive way. He got Chileans to start dancing to the music of their own artists, because previously we consumed a lot of music from outside like Puerto Rico and Colombia.”
Oscar Ibañez (who is also a producer under the name David Wild) adds, “If you ask any Chilean artist, they will tell you that our Daddy Yankee, our OG, is Pablo Chill-E. At the same time, we had Paloma Mami, and we started to take big steps outward. That was when the big record labels started to want to invest in Chile.”
Pablo and Paloma both entered the Billboard charts, the former on Hot Latin Songs with 2020’s Bad Bunny and Duki collaboration, “Hablamos Mañana,” the latter on Top Latin Albums with Sueños de Dalí and on Latin Pop Airplay with the Ricky Martin-assisted “Que Rico Fuera,” both released in 2021.
Since, Chilean reggaetón tracks have increasingly appeared on the charts, including Cris MJ’s “Una Noche en Medellín” (2022), Polimá Westcoast & Pailita’s “Ultra Solo” (2022) and Jere Klein’s “Ando” (2024).
“I feel like we created our own sound,” Oscar Ibañez says. “We gave our own reggaetón an identity that we didn’t have before. What we did at first was replicate a sound that was playing elsewhere; it was very neutral. Our ‘Chilenismo’ wasn’t applied to it. We gave reggaetón music a more Chilean twist with our idioms, our phrases, and it often happens that almost nobody understands what we say, but that same cadence became the DNA of Chilean music. Just by the accent, you know when it’s a Chilean artist.”
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And even as the movement has grown beyond Chile, it has done so in large part because of the faithful and loyal audience for its music within the country itself. “The key to Chile today is self-consumption,” Josue Ibañez explains. “We have a lot of fans. I think it was the fandom that made us get onstage and out into the world. That has been the most beautiful thing of all, that our culture through music has been able to expand internationally.”
“It used to be very difficult for that to happen,” Cris MJ says. “So now the fact that Chileans themselves are supporting us is good for the movement. They trust us, the talent. It was hard, but it was achieved. Personally, I’m dedicating myself to creating music that can be heard outside of Chile.”
Now, with the global success of “Gata Only,” Chile is on the wider music industry’s radar. Earlier this year, Rimas Publishing expanded its services to the country, where through a strategic agreement with Wild Company it will provide A&R services, artist development, musical composition creation and more.
“Chile is a market that has impressed us a lot. The growth has been exponential,” Rimas Publishing managing director Emilio Morales says. “It is a phenomenon like what’s happening in Brazil, where they are very proud of their national artists. In Chile, the support for their artists has a lot to do with education and culture. It’s a market where numbers and consumption are very significant.”
“One of our dreams is for Chile to become a musical powerhouse,” Oscar Ibañez says. “We want to educate the industry in Chile so that music is a blessing and not a problem. I believe in giving Chilean culture a healthy and educated music industry.”
Chile’s New Urban Leaders
Meet some of the artists driving the country’s burgeoning music movement.
Clockwise from left: Jere Klein, Pablo Chill-E, Marcianeke, Polimá Westcoast
Illustration by Israel G. Vargas
Cris MJ and FloyyMenor
Though both started as solo acts, Cris MJ and FloyyMenor achieved their greatest chart success thus far collaborating on “Gata Only,” which reached No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot Latin Songs chart, spending 14 consecutive weeks there.
Jere Klein
Known for his distinct, high-pitched voice, Klein made his first Billboard chart appearance in January with “Ando” on the Billboard Global 200 and Billboard Global Excl. U.S. lists; his second entry came on Global Excl. U.S. in February, “Princesita De…” with Chilean acts Nickoog CLK, Lucky Brown and El Bai.
Pablo Chill-E
Another Chilean urban pioneer, the trap artist born Pablo Acevedo has his own label, Shishigang Records. In March 2020, he secured his first entry on Hot Latin Songs, joining Bad Bunny and Duki on “Hablamos Mañana,” which debuted and peaked at No. 22.
Marcianeke
Though he doesn’t have a U.S. chart history, the trap and reggaetón artist revolutionized the urban movement in Chile. Known for his raspy vocals, he was the first Chilean urban act to perform at local nightclubs back in 2019 — which encouraged the country’s listeners to begin embracing their own urban artists.
Polimá Westcoast
The artist with a trap-meets-rock-star attitude got to No. 9 on the Billboard Global Excl. U.S. chart in 2022 with “Ultra Solo” featuring Chilean act Pailita; that same year, Feid, De la Ghetto and Paloma Mami jumped on the remix. He’s now collaborated with J Balvin and Quevedo and in 2023 signed a global deal with Sony Music U.S. Latin.
This story appears in Billboard‘s Rumbazo special issue, dated Sept. 14, 2024.
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.
Over his nearly 20-year career, Arcángel has become one of reggaetón’s most influential and enduring artists, landing 10 No. 1s on the Billboard charts and collaborating with superstars like Daddy Yankee, Romeo Santos and Bad Bunny. So it came as something of a shock when, in an interview with the famed Puerto Rican radio host Molusco late last year, he called the genre “musically poor.”
“If we compare it to any other genre, it’s much more complex to make another genre than to make reggaetón,” Arcángel tells Billboard today, explaining his controversial comments. “We don’t need a real instrument. It’s not the same where musicians are needed and you must know how to write real music. I am not criticizing it; I am just telling you the truth.”
But as he looks forward to a year packed with potential new projects — a new album, a book and a docuseries are all on the table — he readily admits that it’s reggaetón, uniquely, that got him here: “This genre has made me rich. I don’t think that another genre would have given me everything that I have today.”
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Growing up, the artist born Austin Agustín Santos lived in New York with his father and Puerto Rico with his mother, Carmen Rosa Santos, who was once a member of the all-girl merengue group Las Chicas del Can. Music surrounded him, including the emerging reggaetón scene of the ’90s, even if he says that the burgeoning genre wasn’t his favorite — at least, until one CD changed his mind.
“When I was still in school, they gave me a CD called Planet Reggae, and when I heard Tego Calderón, I fell in love with urban music from Puerto Rico,” the 38-year-old says. “That’s when I thought, ‘Wow, I like this. I respect this. This is the future,’ and it motivated me to move to Puerto Rico and want to sing reggaetón.”
Arcángel finished high school and only had one job — dressing up as Elmo to entertain pediatric cancer patients at a local hospital — before he dedicated himself to music. In 2004, he formed the underground duo Arcángel & De la Ghetto and signed with Baby Records (owned by Puerto Rican artist Zion of Zion & Lennox). Two years later, he launched his own label, Flow Factory, where he released his debut solo studio album, El Fenómeno, in 2008 after going solo the year prior. (He and De la Ghetto, now a star in his own right, remain friendly and appeared together on Bad Bunny’s “Acho PR” in October of last year.) Today, he credits el bajo mundo (the streets) for jump-starting his career.
“I didn’t invest any money in music. I gave my music away for free at first. I put it on Myspace,” he explains. “I’m a guy who came from the streets, and I didn’t make commercial music. I don’t owe my success or my status to radio impact.”
But while he downplays the importance of record sales and radio airplay (“When I sing in front of thousands of people, and thousands of people repeat my lyrics, that’s much more powerful”), such success did soon come. Arcángel scored his first Billboard hit in 2006 with his feature on Jowell & Randy’s “Agresivo,” which peaked at No. 27 on the Latin Rhythm Airplay chart. But the song that really changed his career, he says, was his romantic 2008 track “Por Amar a Ciegas,” co-produced by Luny Tunes, Tainy and Noriega.
“I was already popular in the urban scene, but that song gave me a respect that went beyond just being a reggaetón singer or rapper,” he says. “It made a lot of people, not [just] fans of urban music, listen to me.”
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Slim and small in stature but with a powerful, raspy voice, Arcángel is perhaps best known for his strong-willed personality and unapologetic self-confidence — qualities that have both helped and hurt him over his career.
In 2012, he signed a record and management deal with producer Rafael “Raphy” Pina’s Pina Records, where he was co-managed by Pina and Omar “Omi” Rivera (the latter, founder of Omi Management, still manages him). While there, he released Sentimiento, Elegancia y Maldad, which conquered the Top Latin Albums chart in 2013 — still his only No. 1 album — and became his first entry on the Billboard 200.
But in 2018, Arcángel parted ways with Pina due to personal issues, negotiating himself out of his longtime contract. His career stagnated for a year — until he signed a deal with the then-emerging label Rimas Entertainment in 2019.
“We had two options: We go with a traditional major label, or we try it out with [Rimas’] Noah Assad and Jonathan ‘Jomy’ Miranda, who are visionaries, who are modern, who are creative,” Rivera says. “Besides, the era of physical was also changing to digital, and they had a lot of knowledge in that area. It was a risky decision at that time because it involved money, but on the other hand it gave us peace of mind because we knew that they would adapt to what we wanted to present in the project.”
Rimas helped Arcángel get back on track, including with a pair of No. 3-peaking singles on Hot Latin Songs: 2019’s “Sigues con Él” with Sech and 2022’s “La Jumpa” with Bad Bunny. He’s now released five studio albums with the label, including Sr. Santos — a tribute to his late brother Justin Santos, who died at age 21 in a 2021 car accident — which debuted at No. 3 on Top Latin Albums in 2022. He’s also become a major supporter of Latin music’s next-gen stars, teaming up with Feid, Peso Pluma, Bizarrap, Eladio Carrión, Young Miko, Grupo Frontera and more.
But huge hits and vibrant collaborations alone aren’t what’s kept Arcángel relevant for this long.
“Arca took risks at very crucial stages of the movement,” Rivera says. “He’s very peculiar and unique. He’s not afraid to speak his heart out. This whole industry is so complicated because you must please so many people, but by being himself, he has been able to earn the respect he has today.”
“I’ve fallen a couple of times and had to learn new tricks,” Arcángel admits. “I’ve won more when I lose than when I win, and I still managed to do what can truly make a human being happy: live off what you really like.”
This story appears in Billboard‘s Rumbazo special issue, dated Sept. 14, 2024.
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.
In early 2018, the future looked bright for corridos singer-songwriter Codiciado. Grupo Codiciado, the band he’d co-founded three years prior, was rapidly rising: After breaking onto Billboard’s Hot Latin Songs chart in 2017 with “Gente de Accionar,” the act reached No. 8 on the Regional Mexican Albums chart with Miro Lo Que Otros No Miran (I See What Others Don’t). And with its success, the group was helping define the urban style of Rancho Humilde, the Los Angeles-based label known for its modern take on música mexicana.
Then, on a cannabis possession charge, Codiciado’s visa was revoked at the U.S.-Mexico border that April. He’d migrated to the States in 2016, working in Southern California’s agricultural fields to support himself as he tried to get his music career off the ground. Now, the physical walls along the border of his native Tijuana — and the legal restrictions preventing his reentry — stood in his way.
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It was a devastating turn of events. “I really wanted to stop. I didn’t want to make music,” the 31-year-old artist (born Erick de Jesús Aragón Alcantar) admits today. “I had a hard time when I left. I had no work; I was making my whole career in the United States. I thought that something divine wanted me to leave, like someone didn’t want me here. Then I put on my pants and said: ‘Well, if I’m here [in Mexico], I have to give it my all.’ At the end of the day, I was very hopeful [about] getting my visa back.”
Instead of letting the visa revocation end his career, Codiciado built a new one. Driven by a reborn creative conviction and fans’ support, he split from Grupo Codiciado and went solo. “The people gave me encouragement to say that it wasn’t over, that it was just a stumbling block,” he says. “I had to keep going.”
Growing up in Tijuana’s Villa del Real III neighborhood — an impoverished place, but one rich in Mexican music — Codiciado absorbed the culture of his surroundings. Influenced by icons like Los Tucanes de Tijuana and Explosión Norteña, he began writing songs as a teenager and channeled his environment’s chaos into his music.
Codiciado’s first songs were inspired by the infamous drug kingpins of Sinaloa and written in part out of financial necessity. Drug lords often pay songwriters to have corridos written about them, and though Codiciado notes that he “didn’t know about cartels in those days, just what I heard on the street,” getting the work marked a career turning point for him. As he honed his musicianship, he teamed with longtime friend and drummer Giovanni Rodríguez to form Grupo Codiciado in 2015, recruiting four more members in Tijuana.
The group organized and recorded a concert by the end of the year, drawing millions of views on YouTube; one of those videos amassed 233 million views alone. Its frequent new releases helped it cultivate a loyal fan base, and soon the band was headlining festivals throughout Tijuana. The following year, Rancho Humilde signed the act and it came to the U.S.
“Erick was the first artist who brought this new style to Mexican music eight years ago with Grupo Codiciado,” says Fabio Acosta, who is part of Codiciado’s four-person management team. “They were pioneers in changing the genre’s style, shifting from very decorated suits with fine stones to incorporating streetwear.”
Codiciado’s sense of style, now common among modern corridos acts like Natanael Cano and Fuerza Regida, was ahead of its time. “I had disagreements with older colleagues,” he recalls. “Many took it as an offense, saying, ‘No, man, we’re the same, and you’re wearing do-rags, caps and sneakers, while we’re here with cowboy hats and boots.’ ”
“He was at the forefront of this new wave of corridos,” says Chris Den Uijl, another member of Codiciado’s management team. “He was one of the first to show up in Air Force 1s and have a more progressive style.”
Codiciado performing at Toyota Arena on May 3, 2024 in Ontario, Calif.
Lalo Gonzalez
Since late last year, Den Uijl has overseen Codiciado’s touring strategy alongside Aaron Ampudia, with whom he co-founded festivals including Baja Beach Fest and Sueños. In fact, Ampudia, who has roots on both sides of the border, was the first of the current management team to connect with Codiciado, through a mutual friend. Ángel del Villar, founder of corridos label DEL Records, rounds out the team. “[My managers] are helping me to give structure to my work, to my company, to my band, to my music,” Codiciado says. (He releases music independently and has a distribution deal with Warner.)
As Codiciado’s career blossomed and he debuted on the Billboard charts, his life took a sudden turn. In 2018, while crossing into the United States from Mexico, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement accused him of residing stateside on a nonresidential visa and sought to revoke it. “I kept saying I had a work visa and traveled back and forth frequently,” he says. “Then, upon checking my bag, they found less than a gram of marijuana that I don’t know how the hell got there. I was detained for 12 hours without [access to] a lawyer. They had me sign for voluntary deportation, renouncing my visa and rights. A lawyer would have told me not to sign and to go to court.”
Back in Mexico, Codiciado felt “frustrated and alone” as he watched música mexicana move on without him. Rancho Humilde founder and CEO Jimmy Humilde “started signing new acts like Fuerza Regida,” Codiciado says from his home in Riverside, Calif. “One year went by, two years went by, three years went by, and nothing happened [with getting my visa back].”
Finally Codiciado decided, he says, “to get my act together” — including formally separating from Grupo Codiciado, which disbanded in 2021 and released its last single as a band, “Maquinando,” in February 2022. He doubled down on his solo songwriting and in 2023 put out his first solo album, Golpes de la Vida (Blows of Life), distributed by Virgin Music U.S. Latin; he wrote and produced 17 of the set’s 20 songs himself.
The album kept the essence of his sound intact, while recent singles like 2024’s “Gabachas” have embraced the rising trend of electrocorridos — electronic music with corridos instrumentation woven and sampled throughout. As he’s chronicled the monumental shifts in his life amid his visa struggle (including becoming a father for the second time; he has a 10-year-old daughter and a 4-year-old son), his lyric writing has deepened as well. “The biggest lesson was that I had to keep pushing and not wait around. If I had waited, I wouldn’t have grown. Despite leaving the group, I can say I made it. I returned a different person.”
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With legal assistance and the proper paperwork, Codiciado returned to Southern California with a new visa (he declines to specify what type) in 2023. Earlier this year, he completed the aptly named — and very successful — five-date Ando Enfocado (I’m Focused) tour; Live Nation is producing a second, eight-date run that will take Codiciado from coast to coast in September and October.
“He’s touching the young corridos kids [with] this new generational sound,” Den Uijl says. “He has a large fan base of regional Mexican fans that are showing up in cowboy hats and are going up to him saying things like, ‘You helped me get through my hardest times.’ Grown men crying to him saying, ‘You gave me the strength to stick through it when I lost my job to find the next one.’ Things like that really touched me watching it at his first wave of his shows.”
Meanwhile, Codiciado has returned to the Billboard charts. He made his solo debut in February 2023 with “V.A.M.C. (Vamos Aclarando Muchas Cosas En Vivo),” which peaked at No. 31 on Hot Latin Songs; the track also reached No. 29 on Regional Mexican Airplay. And “Gabachas” debuted at No. 41 on Latin Airplay and hit No. 9 on Latin Pop Airplay.
“I’m an artist with eight years [of experience]. Maybe many have come up faster and achieved what I haven’t yet in less time. But I’m the only one who has done it this way,” Codiciado says. “Maybe I bring two, three, four hits a year, but they are hits that are staying with the people and have a message.”
But now, his ambitions go beyond achieving commercial success. Codiciado’s work with La Fundación UFW, founded by civil rights activist César Chávez, underscores his dedication to the immigrant community at large. “We as a society have to be more noble and empathize more with people who don’t have,” he says. In April, KNAI (La Campesina 101.9) Phoenix, the radio station Chávez founded in 1983, announced a collaboration with Codiciado to deliver hot lunches to local farmworkers. “We should help people if we have the means,” Codiciado says. “God gave [to] us to give back. The more I have, the more I help.”
And as his influence grows, Codiciado wants to effect broader change, too. “I want to change minds. I can’t change everyone, but [artists] do have the influence to make big changes, just like a politician,” he says. “Our audience is very large, and revolutionarily speaking, that’s what I aspire to be.”
This story appears in Billboard‘s Rumbazo special issue, dated Sept. 14, 2024.
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.
Regional Mexican music continues to surf a wave of unprecedented global popularity and expansion, with names like Peso Pluma, Luis R Conriquez, Edén Muñoz, Fuerza Regida and Grupo Frontera crowning Billboard’s global and U.S. charts.
Yet women in the genre are almost nowhere to be found. Just one female artist-led song appeared among the 50 on Billboard’s year-end Regional Mexican Airplay Songs chart: Yuridia and Angela Aguilar’s “Qué Agonía.” And among the regional Mexican acts dominating the Hot Latin Songs chart, only one female name comes up: pop singer Kenia Os as a guest on Peso Pluma’s “Tommy & Pamela.”
Behind the scenes, it’s a different story entirely. In what had long been a world of male dominance in the C-suite of música mexicana, women are now powerhouses. María Inés Sánchez, formerly head of marketing for regional Mexican indie label Afinarte, is now the West Coast vp for Sony Music U.S. Ana Luisa Gómez, who has worked with Alicia Villarreal and Sergio Vega, among others, now manages superstar Muñoz. Rosela Zavala manages Ana Bárbara, and Adriana Martínez manages rising trio Yahritza y Su Esencia.
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And they’re just a few among a growing group of women that also includes Ana Martínez (leading Fonovisa/Disa’s U.S. division), Delia Orjuela (head of creative for música mexicana at Warner Chappell) and managers for some of the most visible artists on the charts, like Ivan Cornejo, Xavi and Eslabon Armado.
Billboard gathered four of these executives for a candid conversation about how they’ve managed to make their marks in a complex genre they readily admit is “full of men” — and the unique skill set that it has taken.
“I’ve always said that I’m one person at home, and another when I leave my house and I become that other person that everyone says, ‘Oh, she’s super angry, super hysterical,’ ” Gómez says with a smile. “Yeah. I’m super all that because if I wasn’t, I think I wouldn’t have made it.”
Spanish singer-songwriter Natalia Jimenez (left) and Gómez
Courtesy of Ana Luisa Gómez
How did you get your start in the world of regional Mexican music?
Ana Luisa Gómez: I graduated from the University of Monterrey [in Mexico] in communications and started working in television, where I spent 14 years producing entertainment and musical programs. Fifteen years ago, I left that and started managing Sergio Vega, “El Shaka,” may he rest in peace. [Vega was murdered in 2010.] Then I started my advertising agency, offering a 360 model of booking, promotion, radio, television. Later I decided to focus more on management, and I’ve been with Edén Muñoz for three years.
María Inés Sánchez: I also started years ago at PolyGram, Sony, Universal, Machete, always in marketing, and when I moved to Los Angeles I started doing public relations. Later, [my client] Chiquis Rivera recommended me to run PR for DEL Records [in 2016], and that’s how I started in the Mexican music genre. I worked with Régulo Caro, Gerardo Ortiz, Ulices Chaidez, Los Plebes del Rancho [de Ariel Camacho].
Rosela Zavala: Like María Inés, I got my start through Chiquis. I came from the pop world, working with Paulina Rubio and later with Gloria Trevi. And from Gloria I went to Chiquis and landed in a completely different world, the regional Mexican music world. I co-managed Chiquis, and Ana Bárbara is the first artist I fully manage.
Adriana Martínez: I’ve only been doing this for two years. The role of manager fell on me. My brothers, Yahritza y Su Esencia, began to be recognized, and since they always turn to me, I had to get a lawyer and all that. When I said, “OK, now you can fly alone,” they said, “No, please don’t leave us.” The truth is I started in this with zero experience.
What has been the most difficult thing about being a manager?
Martínez: Being siblings, and then transitioning into manager mode. At first, the guys didn’t take me very seriously when I said, “We need to do this.” The seriousness of things was there, but it was easier for them to procrastinate because I was the one in charge and I was their sister.
Gómez: The most challenging thing for me is working with men. They’re all men. There are no women, at least not in the teams I have worked on, starting with Sergio Vega. It’s not easy for men to accept that someone is telling them what to do and how, although it’s not a mandate. But I understand. It’s machismo. So the most challenging thing is to deal with that and develop a strong character.
Zavala: I have found it difficult to get Ana’s music heard on the radio. We bring songs and they say, “Oh, the traditional mariachi isn’t playing now. It’s grupero.” So Ana says, “Let’s do grupero,” and they say, “Ah, grupero sounds old.” In Mexico we get played much more, but in the U.S., with so many men on that chart, it’s difficult to get in. Also, in the beginning with Ana, I wrote to a couple of concert promoters that I knew, and they weren’t interested in her tour. A few years later, those same people wanted to work with her. I love making that happen. But I always looked for the people who told me they believed in her, let’s do it. And there are many people, even men, who told me, “Yes, we will give it our all.”
Ana Bárbara (left) and Zavala
Courtesy of Rosela Zavala
Do you remember the first time you had to lay down the law to be taken seriously?
Gómez: With Sergio Vega, of course. I met him through Oscar Flores, a super-renowned concert promoter, and we clicked. But Sergio was a man without reins. He did what he wanted, how he wanted. He was a great talent looking for the right direction, but he didn’t know how to do it. When I said left, he said right. And one day, after an event in Sonora [Mexico], where everything I told him not to do, he did, I grabbed my suitcase, knocked on his hotel room door and told him, “That’s it. I don’t have to deal with you or your people or your party.” I took my bags and flew home to Monterrey. After five days, he came to see me and said: “I am in your hands. What do we do?” And from there, we became family.
Do you think of one moment in your career as particularly defining? María Inés, I remember meeting you when you were a junior publicist, and then seeing you become a powerful executive at the Afinarte label…
Sánchez: That’s where I started, from ground zero. When I began working at Afinarte, they didn’t have a company email, for example. The first year, they uploaded the music to TuneCore and I made the pitches to the platforms. They didn’t have a distributor. I came from working at multinationals, which of course are highly organized and have departments for everything. Here we had to assemble everything, and I was the only woman: The bosses, the musicians, even the photographers were men. So it was a challenge, but I thank them because not many companies would have given me that much autonomy.
Zavala: Working with Paulina was like getting a master’s degree. [Initially], I was the president of her fan club, and she gave me the opportunity to be her personal assistant. Then I finished my “master’s degree” with Gloria. I spent eight years with her. I saw her struggle at the beginning with her shows, and then saw her grow to play arenas. She gave me that opportunity to grow and learn more and do day-to-day management. It was scary at the beginning. When you go from being a fan to being an assistant, you are no longer the friend. Everything becomes much more serious.
Martínez: I graduated [with a degree] in psychology. I worked as an outreach coordinator [for a health provider], and I already had my life planned. [When I started working with my brothers], the most important thing was to make sure that the values that our parents had taught us — keeping our feet on the ground, not forgetting where we came from, manners — were maintained. But there have also been times where I’ve said, “This is as far as it goes; I’m their sister, but if they don’t have respect for me as their manager, then that’s it.” After that, things calmed down and thank God, we are all moving together. But sometimes you have to have those talks or pack your bags and leave. All these battles have made us realize that family is important but also the respect we have as business partners is important.
Yahritza y Su Esencia with their sister and manager Martínez (second from left).
Jesse Sandoval
Aside from the difficulty of being taken seriously, what is most challenging for you on a day-to-day basis?
Martínez: We work with a major label [Columbia] and an indie label [Lumbre Music]. It’s good to have the macro view and the micro view, but our work doesn’t end there. It’s always been super important for us to have that relationship with the fans, to reach a point where they know the artist as people. And we didn’t receive much support in that respect. We said, “If we show people who we are and where we come from, our hearts will connect,” and sometimes big companies don’t understand that.
Gómez: Above all, the people that surround the artist but aren’t part of the music industry and love to mess things up. Going back to something that María Inés said, the daily challenge to be validated.
Are there certain advantages you do have as women in this business?
Martínez: I think we have that emotional balance, and we can see that in our empathy. The balance we give our artists with that empathy is super important, and it helps them know that they can trust us and that we are here to play any role.
Gómez: I am neither Edén’s mother, grandmother nor cousin, but you have to be all of that for him. Understand if he’s had a bad day, if his child is sick that day. A man also understands, but I think that a man has less sensitivity than us, he doesn’t have that sixth sense we have where as soon as I see him, I know what’s up. I think that as a woman you can dig in a little bit further than a man would dare to.
Zavala: The sensitivity we have with them and putting ourselves in their shoes. Even if you’re having a bad day, you still have to get onstage, sing. So the ability to support them from behind, be a cheerleader and look them in the eyes and giving them that support they need at that moment is very important. Because although you’re not family, you become family.
From left: Sony Music Latin president Alex Gallardo, Mexican singer-songwriter Ramón Vega and Sánchez at Sony Music Latin’s 2023 Música Mexicana Celebration in Los Angeles.
JC Olivera/Getty Images
What advice would you give to anyone starting out in the music business?
Gómez: You have to be passionate. If you go for the money or for the “I’m the manager,” bye. The money will come. It’s about fighting to place the artist at the level [they are] and being clean and honest. And don’t be a fan. It’s one thing to admire your artist, but don’t fall into fandom. You won’t be able to help them.
Sánchez: Don’t give up and be patient. And be empathetic. Be attentive. Be a little more human and don’t look at artists as a money machine. And speak up. Before, I stayed back and swallowed a lot of things. You have to raise your voice in the moment. Go for it. If you don’t agree with something, say so.
Zavala: Don’t take things personally. I was 22 when I started. I was so very young. Now that I’m older, I think back to how sensitive I was. Because it’s not about you. You grow thick skin. And, I’d say, speak up. Present your ideas, articulate them and land them as they should be.
Martínez: Be patient. Love, passion for your work, is what will lead you to do a good job with your artist. And most of all, don’t throw in the towel so soon. And ask. I would always hold back. I would talk down to myself. Ask for help, ask questions. I always thought that they were going to see me as “How could you not know that?” But all questions are good.
This story appears in Billboard‘s Rumbazo special issue, dated Sept. 14, 2024.
On a balmy May evening in 2023, the Glasshouse — a neon-lit venue six stories above the Hudson River in Manhattan’s Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood — buzzed with excitement. A music-industry crowd of hundreds had gathered for a private Telemundo Upfront event and its featured performance by Nicky Jam. And from the moment the seminal reggaetón star stepped onstage, clad in his signature baseball cap and an athletic Amiri ensemble beneath a wool trench coat, he showcased why he’s not just part of the genre’s history but also a vital architect of its present and future.
As Nicky sang 2003’s “Yo No Soy Tu Marido,” a bold attendee leapt onstage to dance alongside him. “Oh, ella quiere perrear!” (“She wants to twerk!”) he exclaimed, happily engaging with his unexpected partner as she enthusiastically began to grind on him. For about two hours, Nicky commanded the spotlight with that kind of effortless swagger, cycling through his expansive catalog of hits, from his 2014 international breakout smash, “Travesuras,” to the pulsating beats of “Hasta El Amanecer,” to the pop-reggaetón banger “El Perdón,” to the groundbreaking collaborative track “Te Boté (Remix).”
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Two decades into his career, Nicky is still vital onstage — which made it all the more shocking when, last October, he told his more than 40 million Instagram followers that he was “retiring soon.” He paired his social media announcement with footage from his 2018 Netflix bio-series, Nicky Jam: El Ganador, which chronicled how he’d recovered from a turbulent past marked by drug addiction (and a stint in prison) to become one of Latin music’s most illustrious figures. “I’m not going to be a singer for the rest of my life,” he tells Billboard today over Zoom from his Miami home. “I think I’ll probably retire soon… Well, not retire. Singers never retire. You just tone it down.”
Nicky Jam will headline Rumbazo on Sept. 13 at the Downtown Las Vegas Events Center. For more information, go to rumbazofest.com.
Offstage, the 43-year-old born Nick Rivera Caminero certainly doesn’t look like he’s slowing down. He’s channeled his creativity into a burgeoning business empire, running a chic Miami restaurant, La Industria Bakery & Cafe, and a few boutique hotels in Colombian cities including Cartagena, Guatapé and Medellín. “I have another hotel in Tierra Bomba that we’re almost finishing. It’s on an island resort [in Colombia] that I bought,” he mentions casually, then adds with a grin: “I’ll probably come out with weed too.”
In addition to these ventures, he’s recently launched his own lines of vape products (NickyJam x fume) and energy drinks (Athon) and even dipped his toes into the media world as host of The Rockstar Show (which streams on his official YouTube channel as well as all podcast platforms), where he’s interviewed Latin music stars including Karol G, Rauw Alejandro and Tainy (not to mention Billboard’s own chief content officer of Latin/Español, Leila Cobo). “We’re coming out with the third season right now,” Nicky says. And he also just signed his first full management client, up-and-coming Bronx rapper Axel Leon. (Nicky is also part of the management team for Manuel Turizo.)
However, for the moment, Nicky continues to find music creatively fruitful. The artist has been open about his battles with addiction, but when speaking with Billboard, he also reveals that he’s grappled with anxiety and depression for the past two years. That emotional turbulence — and the sleepless nights that came with it — inspired his sixth studio album, one of his most personal to date. Insomnio, out Sept. 6, delves into his personal reflections and nocturnal musings, while musically blending the sounds of Afrobeats, soul, trap and reggaetón.
For the project, he enlisted a range of talent from all over the world including Jamaican dancehall veteran Sean Paul, Puerto Rican trap star Eladio Carrión, Italian DJ-producer Benny Benassi, Argentine rapper Trueno and Colombian reggaetón star Ryan Castro. “It’s crazy to collaborate with a person you grew up listening to on the stoops of your neighborhood, the cars blasting his music in your city,” says Trueno, who guests on the classically reggaetón single “Cangrinaje.” “It’s like being able to transcend the line from being an admirer to being able to collaborate with that influence. Nicky Jam, without a doubt, was one of those visions that has stayed with me.”
“Having a track with Nicky for his latest album is very special to me because I watched him perform in nightclubs in Medellín,” says Castro, who’s listened to Nicky since he was a kid. “Seeing him overcome everything he went through in life and achieve what he has is the ultimate inspiration for me. Nicky is a star, and since I met him, we’ve developed a great friendship. I feel like he’s one of our own in Colombia.”
KSUBI shirt, Amiri pants and Louis Vuitton glasses.
Devin Christopher
Before his resurgence in the mid-2000s, however, Nicky faced significant struggles on his native island. “In Puerto Rico, I wasn’t booking any shows. Nobody wanted to deal with me — I had a bunch of problems on the streets, I was into drugs, I was a mess. Back in Puerto Rico at that time, I was the embarrassment of reggaetón music,” Nicky told the podcast Drink Champs last year. “But in Colombia, I was a legend,” he added, noting that Colombians appreciated both his hits and the songs that weren’t popular back home.
When Nicky moved to Colombia in 2007, he experienced a rebirth. “He arrives from Puerto Rico to Colombia con una mano atrás y otra adelante,” says his longtime manager Juan Diego Medina, using the Colombian expression for arriving with nothing. “In Colombia, he went through an entire musical process. He says that he learned to be human there, in the city [of Medellín] and country.” (In July, the two amicably parted ways after 13 years but remain close friends.)
“Moving to Colombia gave me the mojo to do the music,” Nicky says. “I got to Colombia in a moment when I desperately needed to work. They were listening to my old songs; they said they were classics. It changed my way of thinking and my way of writing music. I just sat down and I said, ‘If I make a No. 1 hit in this country, that would mean a lot of views on YouTube.’ With 45 million people [back then in Colombia], I was motivated. So I did a No. 1 national hit in Colombia, then four, five more. I became the new Colombian sound.”
In Colombia, Nicky embraced local culture while leveraging then-emerging digital platforms to reach a wider audience. “He had his whole trajectory in Puerto Rico and went to Colombia to try to reinvent himself, to find that audience that would give him a second opportunity,” says Stephanie Carvajal, artist relations and development, Latin lead at YouTube. “What allowed him to break beyond was a platform like YouTube. Nicky Jam was one of the pioneers in understanding and harnessing the power of YouTube to extend his music to audiences worldwide.”
Released in February 2015, “El Perdón,” Nicky’s game-changing collaboration with Enrique Iglesias, was a pivotal moment in reggaetón’s evolution from crude barrio genre to global juggernaut. “Nicky Jam was blowing up in Colombia, and Enrique had just put out ‘Bailando,’ ” recalls industry veteran Gerardo Mejía, who had worked closely with the Spanish pop superstar at Interscope Records and remained in close contact with him. “I said to Enrique, ‘Bro, you got to do something with Nicky.’ Nicky sent us ‘El Perdón.’ I said, ‘Wow, this is a hit.’ We saw how the [reggaetón] crossover began to happen through Enrique’s pop strength. All reggaetón started becoming more [mainstream] — it wasn’t so street anymore.”
But Iglesias’ pop-oriented style initially gave Nicky pause when he first heard it. “I felt the song was too pop-ish,” he admits. “I was worried about my street community. My urban community. I thought they were going to criticize me, so I put out the song without him. Then the record label, Sony, was like, ‘Yo, bro, we need you to put Enrique back on that track because it will be the best move you would do.’ We did the video and the version with Enrique, and that became a global hit.”
Louis Vuitton glasses, Gucci belt, Amiri pants and Palm Angels shoes.
Devin Christopher
Almost a decade later, Nicky Jam is one of YouTube’s most watched Latin artists of all time, boasting seven videos in the platform’s Billion Views Club. On the Billboard charts, “El Perdón” began a run of nine entries on the Hot 100 for him, and two of his albums, 2017’s Fénix and 2019’s Intimo, charted on the Billboard 200.
His Insomnio singles have also fared well: The 2023 Feid collaboration “69” climbed to No. 41 on Hot Latin Songs, No. 37 on Latin Airplay, No. 18 on Latin Digital Song Sales and No. 10 on Latin Rhythm Airplay; “Calor,” with Beéle, reached No. 20 on Latin Airplay and No. 6 on Latin Rhythm Airplay; and the title track, released in August, soared to No. 9 on Tropical Airplay.
And as he prepares for Insomnio’s release and contemplates what might come after, Nicky is well aware of his influence. “I came out exactly at that moment where everything happened,” he says. “For some weird reason, me being an old-school singer, I started what’s going on right now. I’m lucky to say I’m from the old school. I did a lot of hits back in the days, but when it came to the new stuff and the new movement, I’m one of the creators and pioneers of that moment, too.”
Insomnio is an evocative title. What inspired it, and how does it relate to the music’s themes?
I’ve been having two crazy years. I was struggling with anxiety and depression. A lot of the problems from the past were catching up to me. It led me to drink a lot. I had problems with drugs in the past, but never with alcohol. Alcohol is something legal that you find anywhere you go. I started drinking a lot, and it took me to a dark spot where I was feeling like it wasn’t the Nicky people are used to. I was partying too much, going out and I wasn’t sleeping. The crazy thing is sometimes, out of bad things, good things come. I did badass songs for this album during this dark moment. The reason why the album is called Insomnio is because most of the songs [were written, recorded and] take place at night.
How did the nocturnal songwriting process influence the album’s overall tone and message?
Remember, music is the art of expression, and I’m expressing myself. I’ve always been that type of person who’s very transparent. I never hide who I am or what I do. If you listen to “3 a.m. y yo en la cyber truck, pensando cuando contigo me daba los shot” [from “La Cyber” featuring Luar La L], “Exótica” [with lyrics] like “ver el sol caer,” most of the songs talk about me in full self-destruction mode, partying and not giving a f–k about life and just going crazy. If you listen to “Insomnio,” the merengue song, it’s a very sad song [lyrically].
Louis Vuitton glasses, Gucci belt, Amiri pants.
Devin Christopher
Merengue is usually joyful, but “Insomnio” takes a darker turn. How did you balance its upbeat rhythm with its somber themes?
If you listen to “El Perdón,” it’s a sad song. But you put that beat [on it], it automatically becomes a happy song. I think that’s part of my magic. I can make a sad song sound happy. That’s part of my creation mode. I really like that people can sing a sad song not even known as a sad song. That’s magic! If I were to sing that with low, dark chords, you automatically would have been like, “Damn, this motherf–ker is sad as f–k.” The reality is I was sad when I wrote that song, but in the production moment, I said, “I am not going to make this a sad song, I want this upbeat.”
Every album has its own unique creation journey. How would you differentiate Insomnio from Infinity, Intimo or Fénix in terms of the creative process?
I’m going to be honest with you. Fénix is an album that you can realize is Nicky Jam in his prime, doing his comeback and very happy about life. It was a different moment in my life. These other two albums, it was just working. I was touring so much and I just did music and put the [album] name after. These other two albums have no meaning for me. Insomnio has more meaning than any of these albums because I’m telling the people how I felt in one of my darkest moments.
On Insomnio, you navigate between trap, merengue, reggaetón, Afrobeats and electronic music. Can you talk about exploring a wide spectrum of genres?
I’m not this guy that stays in one corner. I could sing R&B, hip-hop, trap, reggaetón, merengue, whatever. The merengue thing is something I’ve never done. That’s why I wanted to do it. That’s funny because I’m half Dominican. Merengue right now is doing really good. Karol G came out with a merengue, Manuel Turizo, and a couple of others. I wanted a part of it. But the whole trap song thing was because Eladio Carrión sent me the [beat]. Then the Afrobeats is something that’s really going on right now. Quería cubrir todas las partes — I wanted to have every corner block. That’s what I did with the album.
Alongside your music, you’ve ventured into business, investing and launching restaurants and hotels. How do these fit into your long-term plans?
I’m not going to be a singer the rest of my life. I’m 43 years old. In a [few] years, I’ll be 50. A 50-year-old reggaetón artist; I don’t know if that looks so good. Daddy Yankee retired at 47, 48. I think I’ll probably retire soon, too. Not now, but probably in seven to 10 years. Well, not retire. The word “retire” for a singer does not make any sense. Daddy Yankee said he retired, and he came out with a song [“Loveo”] a couple of months ago.
There are a lot of new kids, and you’re not going to compete when you’re almost 50 with a 20-year-old that has that brand-new sound, that new vibe that kids like. The reality is this is young people’s music. I’m not saying older people don’t listen to it, but if you see the list of the people, you’re going to see that it’s mostly the youth that listen to this music. You can’t compete with that. So I prepared myself businesswise.
When people say, “OK, Nicky, you’re too old for this,” I’ll be like, “All right, but I’m rich, baby. I got businesses that take care of me and [I] still live the lifestyle.” That’s what you want, to capitalize so many businesses that you don’t even have to perform and do music to live the lifestyle. I worked hard for it. That’s why I do businesses on the side, where I could profit enough that I can keep living that good life.
Faith by Luis hat.
Devin Christopher
How do your restaurant, La Industria Bakery & Café, and your hotels reflect your personal interests?
La Industria is mostly a brunch place. You get your pancakes and French toast. It’s that type of vibe. Here in Miami, I used to go to a lot of these spots, but I recognized there wasn’t a Spanish one. So I came out with the bakery, and it’s been a boon. It has my DNA everywhere. I was born and raised in Massachusetts, but I lived in Puerto Rico most of my life. At the end of the day, it’s a sweet pancake spot — but the bestseller is a hamburger called La Boricua. Everybody goes and gets that hamburger. They love it. You have a knife right through the middle.
You recently signed a management deal with hip-hop artist Axel Leon. What qualities do you look for in artists you mentor?
They got to be talented, disciplined, versatile and have a lot of charisma. That charisma goes crazy with the people. Just with that, you could conquer the world in the music industry. Talent is something, but if you have charisma and you’re hungry to work…
What led you to start The Rockstar Show?
I was in pandemic [mode]. Bored. I wasn’t doing anything. I was in my house and I said, “I got to work.” So I got a studio and I started interviewing artists. It started with a couple of interviews. From there, we went to The Rockstar Show. We’re coming out with the third season right now.
You took The Rockstar Show to Billboard Latin Music Week in 2023, and during your onstage interview with Ivy Queen you started beatboxing. What was that about?
I’m from the old school. Back in the day, we were MCs and we did everything. We’d rap, beatbox and dance. I used to breakdance. I used to [freestyle] battle in the corners like they do in the Red Bull Batalla. I’m very good. Believe me, ain’t nobody f–king with me.
As you continue diversifying your career, are there any other new avenues you’re looking to still explore?
Mostly hospitality, hotels. That’s what I’m really doing. I’ve done acting [in movies like 2017’s xXx: Return of Xander Cage and 2020’s Bad Boys for Life], I’ve done music, I’ve done it all.
Everything I do is to inspire people. Yes, it’s business, but at the end of the day, I come from a black hole most people don’t come out of. A lot of people that were raised with me, they’re dead right now. I’m not talking about one or two, I’m talking about hundreds of them. There’s a chance. There’s hope. If I did it, you could do it. That’s my philosophy.
This story appears in Billboard‘s Rumbazo special issue, dated Sept. 14, 2024.