Bad Bunny’s “Debí Tirar Más Fotos” Tells Puerto Rico’s History

The opening observe of Bad Bunny’s 6th studio album, “Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” which used to be launched on Jan. 5, does not start in the way in which many people have come to be expecting conventional reggaetón songs to start out. There aren’t any heavy synths underlining the intro, no plucky “wite” melody (how Puerto Ricans check with the long-lasting melody sampled from Jamaica’s “Bam Bam” riddim), and no pounding dembow bassline. Instead, “Nuevayol” opens with a pattern from the salsa vintage “Un Verano En Nueva York” by way of El Gran Combo, the primary signal we’re in for one thing other. And by the point the album’s 17 tracks are via, we have now been taken on a excursion via Puerto Rico’s wealthy musical historical past. This is Bad Bunny’s maximum Puerto Rican and emotionally inclined album but, the place he makes use of the island’s musical soundscape as a canvas to touch upon its many sociopolitical problems whilst cultivating the musical terroir of Puerto Rico’s long term.

“Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” which interprets to “I should’ve taken more photos,” comes at a an important time for Puerto Ricans, each at the island and all through the diaspora. With the similar management that has helped lead the island into corruption and rot about to take workplace over again, there is not any be sure that our traditions or way of living may not be at once impacted. Such is the march of time, and the affect of over 500 years of colonization can’t be understated.

Bad Bunny, born Benito Antonio Martínez, turns out to know this higher than maximum. The album is framed loosely by way of the speculation of the singer getting into the brand new 12 months by myself, reflecting on a misplaced love, which is able to simply correlate to the lack of company, sleep, and a promising long term many Puerto Ricans are grappling with. Our seashores are slowly being poisoned. Our lands are being bought to crypto billionaires. And our lighting fixtures nonetheless may not keep the fuck on.

Given those instances, it is not exhausting to look how the nostalgia of the previous can function an break out. But Martínez, whilst his persona could be consuming pitorro and reminiscing about an ex, is not getting misplaced in nostalgia. He’s the use of it to bridge the space between the island’s previous and its long term. While the hole observe begins with a salsa pattern, which shouts out Puerto Rican legends like salsero Willie Colón and the landlord of the remaining status Puerto Rican social membership in NYC, Maria Antonia Cay (referred to as Toñita), the second one track at the album, “Baile Inolvidable,” sees Martínez harmonizing in his conventional urbano cadence over the horns, keys, and conventional salsa orchestration equipped by way of Libre de Musica San Juan. This is adopted by way of tracks borrowed from much less business genres, similar to bomba y plena, música jíbara, and bachata. However, whilst the sonic panorama of “DTMF” owes a lot to the island’s previous, the voices it options are primed to form the island’s musical custom for future years.

Puerto Rico’s subsequent giant factor, RaiNao, is featured at the observe “Perfumito Nuevo,” a horny, upbeat reggaetón quantity with pulsing, alternating dembow rhythms that are ideal for a day-trip throughout Puerto Rico’s sunbaked carreteras. The very subsequent observe, “Weltito,” calls in the aid of up-and-coming Latin jazz, tropical fusion quartet Chuwi.

Martínez could be a once-in-a-generation celebrity, however he is all the time understood that he is a part of a larger musical custom, one that comes with greats like Hector Lavoe, Andres Jimenez, Olga Tanon, Big Pun, Tego Calderon, and lots of extra. And with that comes a definite accountability. Martínez is aware of that any artist he options shall be springboarded into the highlight, and he makes use of his platform accordingly to make certain that the custom continues lengthy after he is long past.

There’s been a “recent back to the roots” motion sweeping around the underground scene in PR, with new artists experimenting with extra conventional sounds, which the artists featured at the album, together with Chuwi, Rainao, Omar Courtz, and Dei V are all part of. Even Rauw Alejandro stepped as much as include a extra vintage taste and pay homage to the diaspora on his remaining album with a canopy of ‘Tú Con El” by Frankie Ruiz. So it’s no surprise that after “nadie sabe lo que vas a pasar mañana,” the trap masterclass that was his last album, Martínez’s latest project would have him going in a more eclectic direction and using his platform to help push the island’s sound in that direction.

But in many ways, Bad Bunny is also kind of an anti-superstar. Whereas being a pop star often means trading in a more cultivated sound for something that appeals to the masses, Martínez has done the opposite. The more his fame has grown, the more his musical trajectory has diverged from typical pop stardom, leading him down the path of auteur and activist similar to hip hop artist and rapper Kendrick Lamar. Similarly, as his fame has grown, his albums have become less accessible and more insular. “DTMF” is not an album that caters to outside audiences. It’s not meant to appeal to tourists, something the artist touches on in the track “Turista,” a cautionary tale about falling in love with the superficial but being unwilling to accept or live with a person’s or, in this case, a place’s imperfections.

But maybe the most impactful track on the disc is “Lo Que Le Paso a Hawaii.” On it, Bad Bunny examines the similarities between Hawaii and Puerto Rico, how both were made U.S. territories in 1898 and how the transition from colony to statehood has served the American interests while raising the cost of living and marginalizing native Hawaiians. It is an eerily similar parallel to what Martínez sees occurring today in Puerto Rico: the influx of American ex-pats, the gentrification of cultural centers, and the government’s push for statehood. It’s no wonder the artist was brought to tears on a recent visit to San Juan. The album is filled with bittersweet sentiments like these.

If “Un Verano Sin Ti” was a love letter to Caribbean culture (Spanish and non-Spanish speaking alike), and “nadie sabe lo que va a pasar mañana” was an homage to the street life of Puerto Rico, then “DTMF” is a celebration of who we are as people, a testament to our grit, and our contribution to music as whole. Sure, the traditional genres are well represented here, but there are also touches of house and spoken word, which remind us of the roles we’ve played in elevating those arts.

Martínez is wielding nostalgia as a weapon here, taking aim at those who would see us pushed off our lands and erased from history, and he’s doing it in the most Puerto Rican of ways: by making noise. And in the process, he’s fully come into his own as an artist and visionary. And that vision puts his island and his people front and center in everything he does. As he says on one of my favorite tracks from the album “EoO”: “You’re taking note of Puerto Rican song. We grew up taking note of and making a song this. In the initiatives, within the hoods. Since the 90s, the 2000s till endlessly.”

Miguel Machado is a journalist with experience within the intersection of Latine identification and tradition. He does the entirety from unique interviews with Latin song artists to opinion items on problems which might be related to the neighborhood, private essays tied to his Latinidad, and concept items and lines in the case of Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican tradition.