The idea of a Latin American identity is, per se, debatable. First used by French diplomats and key political and intellectual figures of Central and South America in the 19th century, the “Latin American” label carries the mark of colonization: the obliteration of colors and races, the mass killing of indigenous populations, and the forced enslavement of millions, with roads wiped out and borders built from scratch. Like a never-ending echoing siren, the Latin American identity is a continuous reminder of a persistent past that resonates from Tierra del Fuego to Tijuana, across the Caribbean, and onto wherever the diaspora inhabits. And despite the media’s, and culture at large, systematic hesitation, it’s undeniable that Brazil is an integral part of this history.
But the idea of a Latin American identity is also undeniable — it’s felt, tasted, smelled, and heard. Like music, it resonates through bailes and fiestas, tardeadas and rodas, barbeques and reunions of all kinds, both new and old-century rituals. Whether it’s an energetic Nuyorican salsa, a romantic Cuban son, or a bittersweet Brazilian samba, music defines the Latin American identity regardless of the language we speak — almost 500, according to the World Bank. Then, why should we rely on a single language to define such an essential part of the Latin American identity? That’s the question music executives, A&Rs, producers, and media figures should consider when thinking about Latin America’s largest country, Brazil.
Throughout decades of recorded music industry history, Brazil has been seen as Latin America’s ugly duckling: a sonic powerhouse that has arguably turned its back on the rest of the continent while producing its own talents in a self-sustaining Portuguese-speaking market. While this is not entirely false, believing this divide represents a real fracture between Brazil and the rest of Spanish-speaking Latin America is a mistake — or the purposeful perpetuation of a colonial cultural split, biased by a so-called language barrier.
Brazilian music is Latin American music. Years before samba reigned supreme as a Brazilian product, Rio’s ballrooms in the early 20th century were crowded with maxixe, or as newspapers called it back then, “Brazilian tango.” When sertanejo was just a word used to describe people from the Brazilian outback known as sertão, Paraguayans and Brazilians shared peasant songs with acoustic guitars known as guarânias. In the 1940s, Brazilian voices such as Dalva de Oliveira immortalized boleros like “Que Será” on the radio.
In that same line of thought, Latin American music without Brazil is impossible. Willie Colón’s “Oh Que Será” is a version of Chico Buarque’s timeless “O Que Será,” like many other salsa standards. Roberto Carlos’ songs resonate on grandma’s record players in Bogotá or Mexico City and in small, cheap bars in Lima and Caracas, where YouTube plays for free on laggy TV screens. Amazonian artists like Nonato do Cavaquinho have contributed to the cumbia idiom since the 1970s. And now, baile funk and reggaeton have never been as close as they are today, embodied by artists like Anitta and Karol G.
Indeed, baile funk and reggaeton are just the tip of a century-old connection that dates back not only to recorded music, but to artists carrying genres like habanera and chorinho in their instrument cases as they traveled throughout the American continent. Today, Anitta crosses borders with songs in Portuguese and Spanish, and Karol G, following in Shakira’s footsteps, embraces Brazilian culture and language. But neither has abandoned their musical roots, performing their idea of Latinidad beyond just lyrics — through dance moves, beats, and rhythms. It’s all about expressing different shades of one possible Latin America, though their choices also operate under the interests of major labels and companies.
However, Anitta and Karol G could become standout names in a persistent norm: the divide between Brazilian and Latin American music, which is maintained by the music industry rather than the Latin American people. Reinforcing the paths both artists are taking and, more importantly, providing a fertile ground for artists of different tiers and genres is an active stance that industry stakeholders must adopt. It’s less about chitchat in fancy rooms and more about listening to the sounds of the streets and the music emanating from bars, cars, and the coolest party in town.
Brazilian music executives must stop looking up to North American and European showbiz and face the fact that Latin America is also their turf and not something separate. The Brazilian market is huge, but not as vast as the entire continent. It’s time to stop chasing collaborations with U.S. and European artists whose numbers are often smaller than those of fellow Latin American artists. Festival curators and promoters need to book more Spanish-speaking artists. Funding for Brazilian artists’ tours and promotion must include major cities in South and Central America and the Caribbean. According to the latest IFPI report, the growth of the Latin American music market is largely driven by countries like Mexico and Argentina, after Brazil. It’s an opportunity up for grabs.
On the other hand, the Spanish-language Latin American music industry must see Brazil as its own, not as a distant cousin. Reggaeton parties have been on the rise in big Brazilian cities like São Paulo and Rio, where audiences are eager to hear reggaetoneros from Puerto Rico, Mexico, and Colombia. Brazilian artists must be considered for music awards as part of the Latin American nominees rather than being isolated in categories like the Latin Grammys’ new “Best Portuguese-Language Urban Performance.” TV and radio shows, playlists, and catalogs that spotlight the Latin American music scene also need to highlight Brazilian music. A recent example of this exclusion is the book The “Despacito” Formula: Latin Music Hits as Told by Their Artists, which doesn’t include a single entry on Brazilian music.
Brazilian music executives must stop looking up to North American and European showbiz and face the fact that Latin America is also their turf and not something separate… On the other hand, the Spanish-language Latin American music industry must see Brazil as its own, not as a distant cousin.
In Latin America, music has transcended borders since immemorial times. If colonization remains an enduring scar and part of Latin American culture, overcoming its deepest divide in the music industry is a crucial step toward embracing the diverse cultures that make us Latin American. Moreover, it serves as a powerful means of rethinking Latin American identity, drawing attention to what really unites or divides us, such as classism, racism, and sexism, beyond language. By taking this two-way path, music acts as a vital lens through which we can examine the struggles that shape and redefine the concept of Latin American identity, especially for Indigenous peoples, those of African descent, and marginalized groups.
The knife sharpener’s whistle hissing at the street corner, stray dogs barking on the road, pastors and priests with their microphones, candomblé and santería drums, the muffled off-beat kick leaking from a kid’s cheap headphones on the bus, and powerful car sound systems blasting the latest radio hits. Family parties, political rallies rumbling out loud on the streets, the joyful melancholy of our songs, and the never-ending hope expressed in chants of all kinds… This is Mexico, Argentina, Colombia, Puerto Rico, and Brazil, too.
Latin America sounds Latin American, and so does Brazil.
