In Colombia, the sound embraced by Rocío Durcal, Juan Gabriel, Yuri, and José José is known as música para planchar, or music to iron to, since it soundtracks the cleaning work done by domestic workers, mainly women. It’s a classist and derogatory label. And yet, this plethora of artists—ranging from Daniela Romo to Nino Bravo—holds a key place in the Colombian cultural consciousness, regardless of economic status. Its recent influence on projects like Paula Pera y el fin de los tiempos, the artistic name for Paula Pedraza’s solo project, demonstrates how this sound has been embraced without irony by new generations trying to define an identity amid the difficult dynamics of Colombia’s major cities. On the verge of releasing her second studio album, noquieroquemequieras, Pedraza reaffirms this unabashed sensibility, as if carrying her beating heart in the palm of her hand; like someone navigating life without fear that smudged mascara will betray their tears.
Pedraza has moved through various spheres of music, first as the bassist for Stallone, alongside her cousin Juan Carlos Sánchez from Nicolás and Los Fumadores, then as the manager of that same Bogotá-based quartet. In 2021, she finally released Paula Pera y el fin de los tiempos; a safe space where she could genuinely embrace her feminine sensibility. “This record that’s coming out is the girliest I’ve done. And that’s fine,” explains the artist, whose indie pop is musically far from the Latine pop that’s reigning the Colombian cultural circuit, like Juliana, Laura Pérez, or Kany García.
After Stallone disbanded, Pedraza began releasing her solo work in 2021—intimate compositions that felt like a warm embrace at a time when even the slightest physical contact was risky. Born out of the solitude of a cruise ship voyage where she worked as a musician, her songs struck a primal chord with the local audience because, despite sounding modern and elegant, they called back to those songs beloved by Latin American audiences: las canciones de señora. As proof, one need only watch her music videos for “Quizás,” “Ojos de cielo,” or her cover of the ultimate anthem for ironing, Yuri’s “La maldita primavera,” to understand how the Bogotá native has channeled a generational nostalgia through simple melodies of fragile structure—glass flowers that shatter after the final slam of the door that ends a romantic relationship. Thus, Paula Pera y el fin de los tiempos’ music has been growing rapidly since, taking her to key venues in the Colombian music industry such as the showcases at the Bogotá Music Market (BoMM), Estéreo Picnic, and now BIME.
After several years of releasing songs, Paula Pera released her first album, EL FIN DE LOS TIEMPOS, in 2024. Her follow-up album noquieroquemequieras, out May 22, was made more expeditiously. “This record was quicker. Industry level: I woke up very early to write and compose. I already had a couple of songs, but they were all incomplete,” she explains. The result is a collection of 10 tracks rooted in an overflowing sensitivity that keeps its focus on romantic relationships: “All the flowers of February / I wanted to save them but I can’t / change what is destined to disappear / All the promises fell apart / Lies weigh heavier than cement / Another love destined to disappear,” she sings resignedly in “flores de febrero.” On “azul,” her most recent single, she acknowledges the delicate bond that unites her with her current partner: “How many loves did I have to mourn / to find you?” she asks in her honeyed voice.
“Last year, all my friends broke up at the same time—literally. They were all devastated. And they said things that made me think, ‘Hey, girl, hold on. I need to write this down,’” she recalls. So, drawing on fragments she’d written in her twenties, Pedraza reworked existing songs based on the heartbreaks of her closest circle. “I feel that the drama in the lyrics is completely Latino, especially on this album, which is about love and heartbreak. All the love lyrics are totally cheesy: ‘I love you, be my home, be my life.’ The heartbreak stuff is the same, too: ‘You’re leaving and leaving me stranded,’” she reflects on this latest work, deeply rooted in feminine sensibility.
“It’s very difficult for people to identify with a woman. I don’t understand why, if I identify with songs by men, why can’t they identify with mine?” she reflects on the difficulty of building a community around her art. “Why is my audience so diverse? Because it’s not a pre-established audience. I’m building an audience that likes sensitivity, Latin music, but also indie and rock. And pop. All of it sounding like Paula Pera’s singer-songwriter style. I don’t have the audience because that audience hasn’t been formed yet. I’m building it little by little. And that’s my big task.”
Paula Pera isn’t exactly música para planchar. Perhaps her cultural contribution will enrich the canon of Latin American melancholy in the future, for it is indeed permeated by an intense emotion; by the broken vases of Mexican soap operas, by the voice of Mocedades playing through static while washing dishes, cooking dinner, or gazing languidly out the window at someone who may, or may not, return.
