The Mess is a new column from journalist Richard Villegas, who has been reporting on new, exciting sounds flourishing in the Latin American underground for nearly a decade. As the host of the Songmess Podcast, his travels have intersected with fresh sounds, scene legends, ancestral traditions, and the socio-political contexts that influence your favorite artists. The Mess is about new trends and problematic faves whilst asking hard questions and shaking the table.
We’re going there. We’re talking about it. Even if things get a little messy.
It’s been a year since the release of Bad Bunny’s landmark DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS LP, and the furor has far from died down. Not only is the superstar in the midst of a blockbuster world tour, but next week, he’ll take the stage at the Super Bowl halftime show, broadcasting perreo smashes, salsa torch songs, and Boricua folk traditions into millions of households. But like his highly publicized refusal to tour the continental U.S., instead hosting a 31-date residency in Puerto Rico, the effort to educate his global fanbase on the musical traditions of his homeland points to a growing and overdue Latin American resistance movement. The mission calls for more than political action, also asserting cultural ownership and unwavering regional pride at a time of unprecedented disinformation and violence against our communities.
I’m sure you’ve noticed the recent flood of traditional-tinged records, including the retro jukebox of Karol G’s Tropicoqueta, the criolla reclamations of Cazzu’s Latinaje, and Rauw Alejandro’s totally-not-Benito-jockin’ explorations of Caribbean fervor on Cosa Nuestra: Capítulo 0. Even Rosalía tributed her European ancestry on LUX, reaching beyond the flamenco and perreo amalgamations of past works to deliver symphonic pop as baroque as the medieval cathedrals that inspired it. Also, Julieta Venegas’s upcoming Norteña LP will unpack memories and lessons from her Tijuana upbringing, underscoring the charged significance of the U.S.-Mexico border and keeping these introspections at the forefront of the conversation.
At first, I was agnostic about folksy narratives and vintage aesthetics amounting to more than charming throwbacks. But each cycle has been complemented with considered visual storytelling and poignant themes of identity. The pattern is echoed by English-language stars like Kendrick Lamar, whose 2025 LP GNX celebrated the legacy of West Coast rap, while Beyoncé’s ongoing Renaissance trilogy traces the foundational influence of Black artists through electronic music, country, and a rumored forthcoming rock chapter. At this point, it’s clear we’re witnessing more than a cynical cash grab or casual dip into fresh musical waters, but rather evolution amidst the creative industry’s rapid and merciless restructuring.
It’s impossible to ignore how globalization homogenized the musical landscape, with music scenes like reggaeton and K-pop increasingly pandering to the English-language mainstream, both rhythmically and aesthetically, and every aspiring pop siren pivoting into techno in the wake of the Brat-pocalypse. Chasing trends is nothing new in showbiz, but once upon a time, geography and language barriers kept Brazilian funk a South American mystery, and, until recently, protected Afrobeats from being watered down into the new wave of Colombian pop saccharine. In parallel, the advent of AI is not only ripping off the techniques of established tastemakers, but also fueling competition through easier—albeit shoddier—content creation and label-generated “artists” bolstered by the algorithm. Back in 2024, a rift between Universal Music Group and TikTok rippled through the industry over AI plagiarism and royalty regulations concerns, and less than two years later, new training models and licensing deals are once again launching us into uncharted waters.
Feeling the heat on their heels, artists have turned to something not yet cloneable: their DNA, harnessing a vast canon of heritage rhythms, colorful colloquialism, and a natural Latine reverence for our musical trailblazers. This strategy breaks from the ultra-glossy stupor of social media and taps into the comfort of nostalgia, a phenomenon that surges during times of social, political, and economic uncertainty. Much of the success of DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS was due to its heartfelt meditations on Puerto Rico’s fraught history as a U.S. colony territory, packaged in lush, uncompromisingly catchy evocations of Fania and Playero mixtapes.
Another such case is Milo J’s La Vida Era Más Corta, which bridged the Argentine star’s early trap and baile funk incursions with percussive zambas and chacareras of the country’s northern region. Guest spots from Trueno and Akriila highlighted his relevance at the forefront of South American rap, while a remarkable collaboration with Cuban troubadour Silvio Rodríguez and a sample-turned-duet with national folk treasure Mercedes Sosa struck the perfect balance of studiousness and homage. During Remezcla’s interview with Milo J, the 19-year-old supernova expressed the desire for his generation to engage with their cultural heritage and its still relevant and ardently political context. Commenting on a free preview show that local officials canceled, he said, “It was also an opportunity for other young people to see and learn things [about our country] they’d never heard about.”
Memory is a vital catalyst behind this roots revival, as governments in Argentina, Chile, Ecuador, El Salvador, and Spain have swung so far right that they’ve reawakened the fears and urges of violent regimes past. Chilean artists such as Javiera Electra, Phuyu y la Fantasma, and Martín Acertijo attack class divides and institutional corruption with provocative fusions of patriotic cuecas and art-pop, hardcore, and trap. Spanish producer Baicua’s latest run of albums brings preservationist awareness to the imperiled Galician language, layering witchy folk chants with booming house beats. And last year’s acclaimed experimental darkhorse Los Thuthanaka, from Bolivian siblings Chuquimamani-Condori and Joshua Chuquimia Crampton, challenged colonial ideals of time and aesthetic perfection with huayños and caporales intervened with silly DJ tags.
Venezuela has become especially fertile territory for this intersection of politically charged storytelling and nostalgic music. The salsa baúl noise collages of weed420’s Amor de Encava drew parallels between traffic jam limbo and generational stagnation, while the warped Latin American rhythms of El Café Atómico’s Panamericana Babylon mirror the chaotic scattering of the diaspora. And even nightclub paralysis demon Yajaira la Beyaca brought Afro-Venezuelan percussion to the forefront on “María Lionza,” an organic, spiritual standout from Caracter Anal, her techno and perreo album with the Colombian producer, Genosidra.
The U.S.’s growing antagonism toward its own citizens is being met with impassioned responses from the likes of Becky G, Snow Tha Product, and Lin-Manuel Miranda. And while I wish more of their peers spoke up against the violence being perpetrated by ICE and the Federal Government, I won’t hold my breath for a pop Ché Guevara. However, institutional violence seems to be our new major export, as anti-narco pressure from the Trump Administration on Claudia Sheinbaum’s ostensibly progressive government has fueled the censoring of corridos tumbados. Funny enough, this is the scene that ignited a passion for tradition in a new generation of Mexican and Mexican-American fans, but now its biggest stars, including Natanael Cano and Netón Vega, have pivoted into reggaeton mexa to gentrifying—and generally whack—effect.
As new tech emerges and our political situation plunges further into hell, the roots wave should continue to underscore music and stories that are indelibly ours. It’s about agency over our history and culture, not just a monetizable vibe. Last year, records from Gaby Amarantos and Maui melded música popular brasileira with pop, tecnobrega, and hip-hop, with cover art stylized like saturated collages. However, each image was an elaborately staged photo featuring bands, dancers, and neighborhood sound systems, evoking the bizarre composition of AI-generated album covers while crafting memorable, heroic snapshots of community cooperation.
Maybe Benito’s been right all along. Maybe we all need to start taking more pictures.
