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The Latin Music Gold Rush
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The Latin Music Gold Rush

a.k.a. A closer look at electronic music's current fascination with Latin sounds.

Shawn Reynaldo
Jan 24
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The Latin Music Gold Rush
firstfloor.substack.com

Last week, the ACA label announced its first release. A joint venture between Phran (a Venezuelan artist based in Barcelona) and NAP (a Colombian artist who came of age in Canada and currently resides in Mexico City), the new imprint will officially debut in March with The Tribe (Baila), an archival EP from DJ Babatr, a veteran producer from Caracas who’s credited with developing the “raptor house” sound. Within days, news stories about the forthcoming record appeared on Resident Advisor and DJ Mag, both of which hailed his status as a raptor house “pioneer.”

A few days later, Hyperdub—a label that’s practically synonymous with the concept of the UK hardcore continuum—announced the forthcoming release of Eslabón, an EP from Houston producer Santa Muerte. Said to be “inspired by the mythology and religion of Mexican culture crossed with the bass-heavy sound of the city’s hip-hop scene,” the record looks to be the first overtly Latin entry in the storied label’s catalog. That same day, I received an email from a UK-based PR rep who literally led her pitch with the fact that the record was coming from a Colombian artist on a Colombian label, and went on to describe the forthcoming release as “another shining example of the sounds of LATAM breaking out into the global underground scene.”

Something is going on here, and while it’s been bubbling up for a while, it’s pretty clear that the attention paid to Florida producer Nick León—who was interviewed here in the newsletter last year—is what truly threw open the floodgates. His breakout 2022 tune “Xtasis”—a collaboration with the aforementioned DJ Babatr—was named the track of the year by both Resident Advisor and Crack, and also prompted electronic music tastemakers to take a fresh look Miami. Once the butt of countless jokes (many of them related to tech house and bottle service), the city—and specifically, its Latin-influenced new generation of artists—has been widely christened as the hottest up-and-coming scene in dance music, and Latin rhythms, with a major assist from the press, have suddenly become electronic music’s hottest hype. (Need proof? TraTraTrax, the Colombian label which released “Xtasis,” was recently described as 2022’s label of the year by Resident Advisor, with writer Andrew Ryce going so far as to say that the imprint “feels like it could be this decade’s Hessle Audio.”)

That’s great, right? Throughout its history, the electronic music industry has generally held firm to a resoundingly UK and Eurocentric focus, and while some of that focus has since been shifted to the US, regions like Latin America have often been left almost completely out of the conversation. The electronic music press has been especially egregious on this front. Prior to last year, the only mention of the phrase “raptor house” in Resident Advisor’s editorial offerings was a single 2011 news story; in truth, even calling it a news story is generous, as the post provided zero context and merely pointed listeners toward a short piece on the genre that writer Dave Quam put together for the now-defunct publication Cluster Mag. (The article’s text has thankfully been archived elsewhere online.) DJ Mag’s record is even worse; before 2022, it seems to have published exactly zero mentions of the term “raptor house.” Given that history, the fact that DJ Babatr—a working-class artist who’s been active for more than two decades but has never achieved widespread recognition—is suddenly someone whose latest release is automatically newsworthy does feel like something to celebrate.

At the same time, what’s really driving this sudden surge of interest? Is electronic music truly looking to broaden its musical (and geographical) horizons, or is what’s happening now just the latest “hot new thing” in a subculture that’s always been susceptible to fleeting trends? At this point, it’s not really clear, and even if questions about those motivations are completely set aside, it’s nonetheless concerning that both the economic success and perceived artistic validity of Latin artists continues to be so highly dependent on the whims of European, UK and US decision makers—particularly when the relevant knowledge base of said decision makers does little to warrant such a responsibility.

As much as the music press (and the wider industry) has worked to present the latest wave of Latin electronic music as a genuinely new phenomenon, that’s a fiction. Electronic music has been present in Latin America for decades, often in forms that aren’t terribly different from the house and techno sounds that have long been a staple of the European, UK and US scenes. Why then have the artists making those sounds have historically gained so little traction? Is a house record from Uruguay or a techno record from Nicaragua inherently inferior to its European or American counterparts? Obviously not, but aside from rare occasions—usually when a particular scene happens to be located in a place (e.g. Mexico City, Buenos Aires, Bogotá) that’s become a trendy tourism destination—Latin American electronic music that conforms to European / UK / US genre norms rarely seems to garner much attention. More often than not, the prevailing attitude seems to be, “We already have that here, so why would we care about a Latin version?”

That said, it’s not that electronic music tastemakers haven’t fallen in love with Latin sounds before. They have, many times, and while the examples are too numerous to list in full, a couple of the most prominent include Brazilian baile funk and electro-cumbia (primarily from Argentina and its ZZK label, but also from places like Mexico and Colombia), which helped kickstart a wave of “global bass” excitement during the late 2000s. More recently, the “deconstructed club” trend of the 2010s helped usher Mexico’s N.A.A.F.I crew into the spotlight. For whatever reason, the wider electronic music world only seems to acknowledge that Latin America exists every five or ten years—a ludicrous proposition considering how central music and dancing are to the region’s culture and history—and when it does happens, folks only tend to be interested in musical movements that exude some kind of perceived authenticity.

“Perceived” is the key word there, because what European, UK and US audiences consider to be “authentic” is often rooted in stereotypes and imagined ideas of what Latin culture is all about. Viewed through this oversimplifying lens, Latin music ought to be vibrant, colorful and overtly sensual. The drums should be polyrhythmic. The presence of mystical (i.e. indigenous) elements is a plus, and if the musical style in question can be tied to marginalized and working-class communities (preferably contemporary, although historical will suffice), that’s even better. It’s exoticism, pure and simple, and this kind of exultation / objectification of the proverbial “other” has been capturing the imagination of Western audiences for centuries. Moreover, in modern times, it’s enabled those audiences—and well-meaning progressives in particular—to congratulate themselves for their diverse listening habits and interest in foreign cultures.

Today’s electronic music scene would likely struggle to cop to that kind of behavior, as most tastemakers would probably frame their current excitement about Latin rhythms as part of their ongoing interest in bold new sounds. But let’s be real; when it comes to supporting Latin music, the electronic music world has never led the way, and embarrassingly lags well behind the commercial pop sphere. Artists like Daddy Yankee and Pitbull were topping the global charts more than a decade ago, but it’s only in the past few years that the average techno fan has realized that maybe there’s something interesting about reggaeton. Aside from the fact that elements of reggaeton, cumbia, baile funk and other Latin sounds are now suddenly being heard in new contexts (e.g. European, UK and US clubs that previously devoted themselves strictly to house and techno), there’s very little that’s genuinely “new” about any of this music. (And no, combining a reggaeton beat with a pitched-up Britney sample and some Rusko-style wobble bass doesn’t really qualify as new either.)

In fairness, labels like TraTraTrax have fostered the creation of some new hybrid sounds, but at this point, they’d more accurately be classified as variants than anything resembling a fully-formed genres. At a fundamental level, Latin music simply hasn’t changed all that much, regardless of what the present hype says; it’s just that electronic music audiences in Europe, the UK and the US are now more willing to hear it. That’s fine, and the development of more open-minded dancefloors is something to be encouraged, but it’s still maddening when people in electronic music—and especially those in positions of influence—act as though they’ve been on board with Latin sounds all along. Publications like Resident Advisor and DJ Mag might casually throw around terms like raptor house now, but as detailed above, a quick look at their archives makes clear that they’ve both arrived extremely late to this particular party.

Granted, this kind of fakery isn’t specific to these media outlets, or even an interest in Latin music. Tastemaker types have always had a tendency to feign expertise. (After all, few things are less “cool” than admitting to not knowing about a particular sound, trend, style, scene, etc. that other folks are talking about.) Even so, it’s a dishonest practice, and when committed by what are two of electronic music’s most prominent publications, it represents a fairly gross misrepresentation of not just musical history, but those entities’ role in shaping it. If press outlets are now going to act like they all along knew that raptor house, reggaeton, cumbia or any other style of Latin music was something great, how can they square that with the fact that they barely bothered to cover it? And why did the limited attention they did pay to Latin sounds rarely last longer than the music’s fleeting hype cycles in Europe, the UK and the US, particularly when those cycles rarely corresponded with the music’s actual relevance and popularity in the region where it was born? It’s not like cumbia stopped being made when people who first read it about it in the FADER in 2008 stopped paying attention to the genre.

The main answer is simple: market forces. Although the electronic music industry has gradually become a worldwide enterprise, its home base—and core audience—has always been (and continues be) located in Europe, the UK and the US, and electronic music fans in those places have never had much of a sustained interest in Latin music. Resident Advisor may bill itself as “the world’s leading platform for electronic music discovery and connection” while DJ Mag touts its status as “a global multimedia brand,” but neither outlet has ever devoted serious resources to engaging with Latin America, let alone covering the region’s music scenes with any kind of sustained depth. (Of the two, RA has arguably done a better job—past features on Mexico City’s sonidero culture, Colombia’s techno scene and Brazilian grime come to mind—but dropping a long-form article every year or so can’t really be classified as comprehensive coverage of a region that spans two continents and is home to more than 600 million people.)

Even if these publications wanted to provide a more substantive look at what’s happening in Latin America, achieving such a goal is borderline impossible for a niche outlet operating in today’s media landscape. During the past two decades, music journalism has been thoroughly hollowed out by the internet and social media, and in a time of shrinking revenue streams, diminished resources and more artists / releases coming their way than ever before, electronic music publications barely have the bandwidth to cover anything outside of the London-Berlin-New York axis. Does this result in horribly slanted narratives? Absolutely, but when the genre’s dedicated outlets don’t even have a proper handle on what’s going on in established electronic music hubs like Barcelona, Manchester and Montreal, it’s downright laughable to think that thoughtful coverage of what’s happening in Buenos Aires and Lima is somehow in the cards.

In many ways, music journalism has become a giant exercise in “making more with less,” and when success (i.e. attracting eyeballs and, increasingly, brand partnerships) depends on chasing clicks and maximizing follower counts, it’s no surprise that editorial staffs so often take practical shortcuts, prioritizing eye-catching (i.e. Instagram-friendly) images and provocative headlines in hopes of garnering reader attention. From a strategic standpoint, it’s arguably the most effective way to stay afloat these days, but when those same techniques are applied to more complex subjects—for example, stories relating to music and artists from marginalized communities and regions (e.g. Latin America)—the resulting coverage often feels more like performative box-ticking than thoughtful engagement.

It is true that the visible Latin presence in contemporary electronic music culture is arguably bigger now than it’s been in decades. In 2023, names like DJ Python, Nicola Cruz, Matías Aguayo, DJ Florentino, Cardopusher and Nick León are likely familiar to those who are even mildly engaged with the current electronic music landscape, and the shadow cast by someone like Arca extends even further, tipping over into both the fashion world and the pop mainstream. This does represent a level of progress, but before the electronic music crowd rushes to pat itself on the back, perhaps a closer look is warranted. Scanning these names, how many of them are some combination of white, male and upper class? More importantly, how many are already based in Europe, the UK or the US? These artists, talented as they are, do not represent a complete portrait of Latin electronic music in 2023; they don’t even represent an accurate portrait of the wider Latin diaspora.

Is that their fault? Of course not, and I don’t mean to negate any of their work. The artistic expressions of those who left Latin America (and their descendants) can obviously still be valid in their own right. At the same time, privilege and proximity matter, especially in an industry that’s as socially oriented as electronic music. While Latin artists living in Europe, the UK and the US—along with those who simply have the economic resources and legal ability to freely and easily travel to those places—undoubtedly face their own struggles, it’s disingenuous to pretend that they don’t have a massive leg up over their counterparts in Latin America.

It’s not just a question of geography either. Electronic music, like all subcultures, is something that’s governed by all kinds of informal rules, norms and ways of doing business, the vast majority of which haven’t been written down. Those rules, which are largely native to Europe, the UK and the US, are something that most people in the industry (and even most dedicated fans) don’t even think about, but they nonetheless color our collective expectations of how artists are supposed to produce, present and promote their work. Think about it: Nobody is born knowing how to effectively word and format a promotional email. There’s no industry handbook stating that audio files ought to be shared via Dropbox, WeTransfer or Google Drive. It’s only in the past few years that Bandcamp has become the go-to sales platform for independent music. And yet, artists are generally expected to know and adapt their practice to all of these things.

Even for those who’ve spent their entire lives in Europe, the UK or the US, keeping up with those expectations—which are constantly changing—is a major challenge. For artists in Latin America, the difficulty level is even higher, as they have to face that same challenge while also navigating a language barrier—electronic music is by and large conducted in English—and the fact that their own local music scenes most likely have a completely different way of doing things. It’s no wonder that so few of them manage to crack the code, nor is it a surprise that the ones who do frequently come from relatively privileged backgrounds. The electronic music ranks are full of cosmopolitan “citizens of the world” that comfortably move across borders and can effortlessly exist in trendy cultural spaces all around the globe, but attaining that status is a lot harder when you come from a place where incomes are low, poverty is high and leaving the country is prohibitively expensive and / or legally difficult.

Parsing all of this is a complicated process, and unfortunately, “complicated” rarely translates in a music culture where merely posting “I did a thing” on social media tends to have a much bigger impact on someone’s clout and influence than whether or not said “thing” has any real substance. Knowing that, key decision makers in the electronic music industry (e.g. festival bookers, journalists, editors, agents, labels, etc.), when faced with an obvious pressure to present a more diverse array of artists and sounds, have generally responded by taking the path of least resistance and promoting whatever is easiest.

In the case of Latin music, the widespread lack of understanding about what constitutes Latin culture and identity has made it particularly easy for the industry to do the bare minimum, as platforms can champion a bunch of white Latin artists—most of whom either live and / or grew up in the UK, the US or Europe—and claim that they’re doing their part. Is this progress? Perhaps it is on some level, and to be clear, a white guy who grew up in the US, the UK or Europe can still be Latin and have unique perspectives to share. However, when the bulk of Latin representation in electronic music consists of that guy (and folks that share a similar level of privilege), it’s absurd to act as though the current flurry of Latin hype represents some kind of towering achievement.

Simply put, electronic music—like most musical subcultures and industries—still has a long way to go when it comes to representation. That in and of itself isn’t news, but with Latin music currently in spotlight, it’s already clear that those benefitting the most from the present wave of hype by and large aren’t the ones located in Latin America. Take the aforementioned raptor house; is it just a buzzword that tastemakers will use to sound cool and knowledgeable, or will there be a genuine effort to learn about the music’s history and engage with those responsible for making it? Based on what we’ve seen so far, the former seems a lot more likely, and in the months ahead, it’s a safe set that we’ll see a lot more DJs from Europe, the UK and the US being praised for playing DJ Babatr records than we’ll see actual DJ Babatr DJ gigs outside of his native Venezuela.

Larger social, political and economic issues obviously come in to play here, but it’s nonetheless discouraging to think that the electronic music world still has such a strong tendency to conflate “celebration” with “extraction.” Latin music—and frankly, all music that comes from outside of the US, the UK and Europe—isn’t meant to be a prop in some kind of clout-chasing diversity play, and when electronic music’s biggest publications are bolstering their progressive bona fides with transparently shallow coverage, it’s difficult to believe that any kind of substantive change has taken place. Although no one is expecting journalists—or anyone in electronic music—to become academic-level experts in Latin music and culture, there’s plenty of room for improvement. (Hiring more Latin people, and particularly Latin people based in Latin America, would certainly be a good place to start.)

What’s presently happening with Latin electronic music is exciting, but if it’s going to be more than just another hyped trend that fades out in a year or two, a more thoughtful approach is necessary. That doesn’t mean Nick León, TraTraTrax or anyone else who’s popping at the moment still has to be the hottest thing in dance music five years from now; music is always changing, and certain styles will inevitably fall in and out of fashion. At the same time, it’s no longer acceptable for the music industry to treat all of Latin culture—or any culture—as a trend, and the notion that Latin music, regardless of where it’s being created, is only intermittently interesting and worthy of our attention is a perspective that needs to be tossed into the scrap heap of history.


Shawn Reynaldo is a freelance writer, editor, presenter and project manager. Find him on LinkedIn and Twitter, or you can just drop him an email to get in touch about projects, collaborations or potential work opportunities.

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