S3, E19: Exploring Puerto Rico's Musical Heritage: From Bomba to Bad Bunny

On this episode of Unpacked, host Aislyn Greene journeys to Puerto Rico to uncover what makes the island's music so extraordinary. She tries salsa dancing in Ponce, immerses herself in the bomba drumming tradition in San Juan, and meets musicians who have shaped both the past and future of Puerto Rican music.

Transcript

Pilot: Welcome aboard Delta Airlines. The local time in San Juan, Puerto Rico is 1:55. The captain asks that all passengers stay seated with their seat belts fastened and that carry-on luggage be stowed away until the plane reaches the gate and the seat belt sign is turned off. We thank you for flying with us and wish you a pleasant stay in San Juan.

Aislyn Greene, host: I'm Aislyn Greene, and you're listening to Unpacked, a podcast that explores one complex topic in travel each week. What you just heard is the heartbeat of Puerto Rico. As part of our “Unpacking” series, I recently visited the island to delve deep into one of the most vital aspects of Puerto Rican culture: music.

Angelina Villapiano Luna: Puerto Rico is world-renowned for its music and dance. It's the heart and soul of being Boricua. No matter where I go, whether it's Switzerland or somewhere else, you can always hear Puerto Rican music on the radio or in clubs. It's a source of pride for us, and it's deeply woven into our culture.

Aislyn: That was Angelina Villapiano Luna, a musician and dance instructor leading salsa classes in San Juan. Salsa is an essential part of Puerto Rican culture, alongside reggaetón artists like the globally popular Bad Bunny. We’re diving into his world later, but these modern sounds owe a lot to the earlier music that laid the foundation. Today, we’ll explore the roots of Puerto Rican music and how it evolved into the reggaetón we know today, a genre that’s not just joyful but also an instrument of resistance.

Let’s begin with two of Puerto Rico's most significant and enduring musical genres: bomba and plena.

Margarita “Tata” Cepeda: My name is Margarita Sanchez Cepeda, but everyone calls me 'Tata' Cepeda.

Aislyn: That’s Tata Cepeda, the sixth generation of the Cepeda family dedicated to preserving the traditions of bomba and plena. I’m sitting in a small, mirrored dance studio, surrounded by framed photos of Tata Cepeda performing in colorful dresses. Two drummers sit to my right, while intermediate dancers, led by Tata’s granddaughter, Carrie, the eighth generation of the Cepeda family, rehearse for an upcoming performance.

Bomba and plena are distinct musical styles, with plena emerging from the roots of bomba. Both are driven by percussion, but tonight we’re focusing on the rhythms and drums of bomba. There are at least 16 unique bomba rhythms, each one expressing a different emotion. In the Cepeda style of dance, the skirt is a key element in conveying that emotion. Each of the six women in the class wears a vibrant, ruffled skirt, so wide that when stretched, they resemble half a melon made of fabric. The dancers grip the fabric in both hands, using the skirts to create fluid, butterfly-like movements. It's captivating and incredibly powerful.

At one point, Carrie gently scolds one of her students for being too cheerful.

Yvette Figueroa, translator: Every rhythm has its own meaning. You need to listen closely to the song’s lyrics and pay attention to convey what the song expresses through both the music and your facial expressions.

Aislyn: After class, I sit down with Tata Cepeda in her small office next to the studio. Yvette, our translator, is with us as Tata shares the story of bomba’s origins.

Yvette: Bomba arrived with the slave trade. That’s how it came to Puerto Rico and the islands. The enslaved people were brought here against their will, of course, carrying only an imaginary suitcase. They brought with them their customs, their way of cooking, and everything they did back in Africa, despite the fact that most of them arrived naked.

Aislyn: The origins of bomba trace back to the late 15th century, at the dawn of the Spanish colonial era. One of the traditions that emerged was music. For the enslaved people, music became one of the few ways to express their feelings and even communicate their experiences.

Yvette: Bomba songs were like living newspapers. They told stories—stories about the community, about events, tragedies, and joys. These songs shared news, whether it was about a loss, a death, or moments of happiness. It was a way to spread the word through music.

Aislyn: Plena, the musical style that grew out of bomba, is also considered a sung newspaper. I ask Tata if she can recommend any bomba or plena songs to listen to.

Yvette: There are so many. The one she sang—

Tata [singing]: Que me de sombra, que me de sombra.

Yvette: This song was written by her grandfather. It can serve many purposes, but when he composed it, it was because he had ten children, and often worked two or three jobs yet still struggled to make ends meet. It's a song that asks for relief, a hope for things to improve.

Aislyn: Tata’s grandfather penned hundreds of bomba songs. While each song may be different, bomba always starts with a rhythm, a percussion section, as you heard in the class. There are always at least two drummers.

Yvette: One of the drums is called buleador, and it plays the steady beat. This basic rhythm guides the dancer’s movements. The primo, however, is the drum that follows the dancer.

Aislyn: So there’s this connection between the dancer and the primo, the second drummer, which I saw firsthand in the class.

Yvette: Exactly, the dancer needs to establish a connection with el primo. The second drummer will follow the dancer's movements and the emotions they’re expressing through their dance.

Aislyn: Tata mentions that this is one of the qualities that makes bomba so distinctive.

Yvette: In most places with drum-based music, it's the dancer who follows the drummer's lead.

Aislyn: It's a very spontaneous and improvised style of both music and dance.

Yvette: Before reggaetón, there was bomba. Reggaetón is known for its improvisation, but bomba also has that element of spontaneous creation.

Aislyn: Bomba styles vary from one region to another, and Tata Cepeda’s family played a pivotal role in introducing a new style.

Yvette: In the past, women didn't dance; they were merely decorative for the men.

Aislyn: It was Tata's grandmother who broke this tradition.

Yvette: She began moving intensely, not just with her body but with her skirt as well. Her grandmother kept challenging the norm, showing everyone that it was acceptable for women to dance.

Aislyn: The family's contributions have been widely recognized. In 2017, Tata Cepeda's father, Modesto, was even honored at a National Endowment for the Arts ceremony. One of his drums is now part of the Smithsonian's collection, and just last year, Tata donated one of her traditional bomba dresses to the museum.

Yvette: Thanks to her family’s work and the legacy of her grandparents, Tata established this school to ensure the tradition is kept alive and passed down through generations. There have been eight uninterrupted generations in her family dedicated to preserving the art of bomba.

Aislyn: The Cepeda family’s school is located in Old San Juan, but my translator recommends that anyone wanting to experience bomba should also visit Loíza, a coastal town east of San Juan. Loíza is known for its large Black population and is a place where Afro-Puerto Rican traditions are preserved and celebrated.

As I leave the Cepeda school late that night, I can still feel the rhythm of bomba in my feet, and all I want to do is dance. Fortunately, music follows me back to my hotel. I pass a bar where an impromptu party is happening, and someone is playing a makeshift instrument, so I stop for a few minutes to watch. As I get closer to my hotel, I hear the sound of a solo trumpet echoing on a street corner, filling the night air with melody.

The next morning is bright and hot. I decide to head south, cutting through the mountains and making a stop in Caguas, home to the House of the Troubadour Luis Miranda “Pico de Oro.” I’ve heard that Caguas is where Puerto Rico’s folk music originated, and this museum is the best place to learn about it. However, when I arrive, painters are busy rolling bright-white paint onto the shutters of the building. I ask if the museum is open, and they shake their heads. Undeterred, I continue my search and meet Maribel Martinez, a kind woman who works for the museum. She invites me in. Despite the hustle and bustle as they prepare for a performance, she takes the time to share the story of the museum with me. This criollo music began with—

Maribel Martinez: —the people from the mountains, the rural folk, you know, the hillbillies.

Aislyn: [Laughs]

Maribel: Yeah, the hillbillies, right?!

Aislyn: Indeed, criollo music, or jibaro music, originated from the farmers living in the lush, fertile hills surrounding Caguas. The people who created this music were known as trovadores, and they sang songs dedicated to the land through improvised trovas.

Maribel: The trova is like a poem. It’s a form of poetry. You can sing it like a poem, you know?

Aislyn: Although the themes of jibaro music are universal, the music itself is quite intricate. The most important instrument in this genre is the cuatro, the national instrument of Puerto Rico.

Maribel: Cuatro means 'four' in English. The name comes from the fact that originally, the instrument had just four strings.

Aislyn: The cuatro is smaller than a guitar but bigger than a mandolin. Over time, the instrument evolved to include five double strings, though the core musical style remained largely unchanged. Jibaro music centers around the décima—a poetic form made up of four stanzas, each containing 10 lines. Each line has seven, eight, or nine syllables, and the lines rhyme with one another. It sounds complicated, doesn’t it? But here’s what makes it even trickier.

Maribel: We also have singers who improvise. You give them the final line, and they start thinking, thinking, thinking, and then they improvise and sing. But the tricky part is that while they’re improvising, they must still follow the structure of the décima. It's really tough. Not everyone can step onto a stage and sing trova, you know?

Aislyn: The décima was introduced to Puerto Rico in the 18th century by migrant workers from the Canary Islands. It quickly became popular among rural workers, who gave it their own unique twist. In the 1960s, the music crossed over to the United States, largely due to troubadours like Ramito Florencio Morales.

Maribel: Ramito was the first popular music artist to travel to the United States and bring our music with him. Thanks to him, Puerto Ricans in the U.S. could finally hear our music.

Aislyn: Ramito had two brothers who were also trovadores, and there are many other well-known figures, like Luis Miranda, the namesake of this museum. Luis was a fierce advocate for jibaro music. He recorded numerous albums during his lifetime, including the one you're hearing now, El Pico de Oro, named after his nickname, which means 'the Golden Peak.' Unlike Ramito, Luis spent his entire life in Caguas, in the very building where I'm standing. After his passing in 2014, the city transformed his home into a museum to celebrate his legacy.

I’m heading to Ponce, Puerto Rico’s second-largest city, located on the southern coast. The drive gives me plenty of time to listen to another musical genre that made waves in the United States in the mid-1900s: salsa.

Melina Aguillar: Puerto Rico is a top destination for salsa. Salsa is the world’s most danced genre. Ponce is home to some of the most iconic salsa artists, including Héctor Lavoe, Pete “El Conde” Rodríguez, and Cheo Feliciano.

Aislyn: That’s Melina Aguillar, the founder of Isla Caribe, a tour company in Ponce offering walking tours and specialized salsa tours. Ponce is deeply rooted in music. According to Melina, in the 19th and 20th centuries, the city was both the cultural and economic center of Puerto Rico, which gave it a unique musical flavor.

Melina: Ponce is a port city—the main one in Puerto Rico—with coffee and sugar exports flowing through it. This gave the city a strong economy. By the end of the 19th century, a large number of immigrants settled here, bringing their own cultural influences, music, and ideas, which shaped the city's identity.

Aislyn: In the 1920s, plena was born. Remember that African-influenced style of music we mentioned earlier? Melina explains that salsa is a blend of these musical traditions.

Melina: —it’s sort of an evolution of plena. When plena became popular in the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s, it sparked a lot of experimentation. The music began to blend with other rhythms. This explosion of plena was the backdrop for the rise of superstars like Héctor Lavoe and Cheo Feliciano, all of whom emerged during this golden era of plena.

Aislyn: According to Melina, all of these elements came together to shape the city into what it is today.

Melina: Ponce was also home to one of the first music academies. Not only did it house the first music store in the 19th century, but it also boasted the oldest band and the first school to offer free music education to children, a tradition that continues to this day.

Aislyn: The following day, I get a glimpse of this musical legacy during a walking tour with one of Melina’s Isla Caribe guides.

Norymar Maldonado: My name is Nory. I always say I’m an endemic species from Ponce, Puerto Rico. I was born and raised here.

Aislyn: We’re standing in the heart of the city’s main plaza, with fountains gently flowing nearby and large trees providing us some much-needed shade from the blazing southern sun. Nory points out an interesting architectural tidbit.

Nory: Music has always been central to our city. It’s woven into every aspect of life. One of the more romantic uses of music here was to serenade a lady, and the balconies played a big role in that. It’s called la serenata.

Aislyn: The architecture in Ponce is simply stunning, with vibrant sherbet-colored buildings and many featuring intricate balconies. Naturally, I ask Nory a very important question: Where would you want to be serenaded?

Nory: Oh my God.

Aislyn: Which one would you choose?

Nory: Without a doubt, it would have to be at La Casa Armstrong, one of our designated National Historic Buildings. Just picture yourself stepping out onto those gorgeous balconies.

Aislyn: The breeze gently tousling your hair.

Nory: Oh my God, but I’m poor.

Aislyn: Nory’s La Casa Armstrong is one of the beautiful buildings surrounding the plaza. It’s a soft cream color with red brick accents and not just one, but five balconies. Apparently, serenading was such a beloved tradition that it’s been immortalized in both poetry and song.

Nory: There’s a poem, which was later sung by Drew Fernandez, a Ponce native. It goes like this: 'Mi pueblo serenata con balcones.' It’s a reminder that the spirit of the balconies has been carried through history, even in song.

Aislyn: The city is brimming with musical history. You have the Museo de la Música Puertorriqueña, which is dedicated to the island’s musical journey. There are also music murals, schools, and the paseo de la salsa, a street where the locals gather to dance on weekends. But the plaza has always been one of the most significant places for music through the years.

Nory: In Ponce, we used to hold our traditional danza nights every Saturday and Thursday. It was more than just music—it was a social event, a chance for people to meet, maybe even find love.

Aislyn: Danza music rose to fame in the late 19th century, thanks to composer Juan Morel Campos. It's similar to a waltz, and the fan played a crucial role in the dances.

Nory: The fan was more than just an accessory—it was a form of communication. Ladies used it to discreetly express feelings. For example, if a woman waved her fan quickly while covering her face, she was saying, 'I have a husband.' Or, 'I’m taken. Don’t even think about it.'

Aislyn: Nory explains that if a woman scratched her nose with her fan, it meant 'something seems off—word is you're a player.' But if she closed the fan and placed it on her forehead, it meant, 'I’m thinking about you.' But—

Nory: And if she placed the fan gently to the side, it turned into a whole love story. 'Oh my God, I'll meet you in the next garden or maybe in the lovers' alley in half an hour.'

Aislyn: So danza was a mix of elegance and flirtation. Juan Morel Campos, who composed over 600 danza songs, had such a lasting impact on the city that he is buried in the plaza, right next to one of the fountains, with a statue marking his grave. His legacy continues to echo through the plaza.

Nory: In 1883, he founded one of the oldest and most enduring music bands in the Caribbean.

Aislyn: Oh, that's fascinating.

Nory: They still perform every Sunday after 6 p.m.

Aislyn: For almost 150 years, the 42-member La Banda de Bomberos has performed every Sunday in front of the iconic red-and-black Parque de Bombas, which was once a fire station. Though the fire station is under renovation at the moment, the band continues to perform outside city hall. The dedication to music here is unmatched, and Nory says that's because every Puerto Rican is an artist.

Nory: Let me tell you, we’re artisans, we’re painters, we’re musicians—it's in our DNA. That's the identity of a Puerto Rican, and I believe it’s part of our ancestral heritage. Our ancestors were incredible craftsmen, and that legacy has been passed down through generations.

Aislyn: I continue my salsa journey in San Juan, where I sign up for a salsa class via Airbnb Experiences with Angelina, whom we heard earlier in the episode. We meet in a large, tree-lined park in San Juan’s Condado neighborhood. After a brief rain, everything feels refreshed. The coquis are chirping. It’s dark, but the warmth of the tropical night is unmistakable. There are eight of us in the class, and Angelina begins by teaching us a basic step.

Angelina: I like to warm us up with a different style of Latin music called merengue. Originally from the Dominican Republic, merengue is also very popular here in Puerto Rico. In fact, I’d say most—if not all—Latinos dance merengue. It’s a great skill to have because you can bust it out at any Latino party, club, barbecue, or travel destination. We all merengue, so it’s super useful.

Aislyn: Angelina starts by having us walk in place with a simple one-two, one-two rhythm.

Angelina: Being from the Caribbean, we add a little extra swing to our hips, infusing it with the island’s unique flavor—the sabor and sazón that make our dance truly special.

Aislyn: She shows us how to move in merengue—forward and back, side to side. Then it’s time to dance to the rhythm of the music.

Angelina: Now we’re going to practice all the different moves we can make while dancing merengue to the world’s most famous merengue tune. And guess where it’s from? Puerto Rico!

Aislyn: Once we’ve mastered the basic merengue steps, Angelina adds a few spins. Soon enough, it feels like we’re really dancing. That means it’s time to transition into salsa. But before we do, Angelina gives us a bit of history. This is where everything starts to make sense for me—how all of Puerto Rico’s influences come together.

Angelina: Salsa truly reflects the history and heritage of Puerto Rico, expressed through its music. The first people to inhabit this island were the Tainos, a Native American tribe from what is now Venezuela. They were a river tribe, traveling by canoe and discovering all the Caribbean islands. And the ones who settled here were the Tainos.

Aislyn: Angelina explains that the Tainos gave each of the Caribbean islands their own Indigenous Taino names.

Angelina: For instance, Cuba is derived from the Taino word 'Cubao'. The Taino name for Puerto Rico is 'Boriquen'. So if you're from Boriquen, you're a Boricua, which is why we, Puerto Ricans, proudly call ourselves Boricua. It’s a part of our identity.

Yo soy Boricua, Bori, Borinquena, Borinquen, Boricua, Mariana, Mariana, ay, ay, ay, ay. Now you know this is our Indigenous identity, one we still hold dear today.

Aislyn: Taino instruments are still part of modern music, including salsa. One example is the guiro.

Angelina: The guiro is a dried-out gourd, like a squash or zucchini, that has been hollowed and sun-dried. Once it’s fully dried and hardened, lines are carved into the side, which are played with a stick to create sound.

Aislyn: And then we have the well-known maracas.

Angelina: These maracas are made from two small pumpkins that are sun-dried. Once they’re completely dried, it’s the seeds inside that create the shaking sound when you move the maracas.

Aislyn: And then, there are the claves.

Angelina: Claves are two wooden sticks, carved into cylindrical shapes. We strike them together to maintain the rhythm, which in salsa is called the 'clave'.

Aislyn: So, the Taino influence is just one part of salsa music. The next group to leave their mark were the Spanish.

Angelina: Boo! They colonized us! But during this process, they also introduced their own musical instruments and styles, which eventually blended into our culture. They brought things like the guitar and the piano. Now, we're layering these melodies over our Indigenous rhythms.

Aislyn: This shift also had an impact on how people danced.

Angelina: We went from the Taino style of dancing, where everyone would gather in a circle and dance as a group, to the European way, where a man and woman stand apart, doing steps and twirls. Partner dancing slowly made its way to the Caribbean.

Aislyn: At the same time, the African population began arriving in the islands, mostly through the horrors of slavery.

Angelina: Most of our ancestors came from places like Ghana, Nigeria, Congo, and Cameroon. And with them came their musical instruments and traditions. So, how does this show up in salsa? Our most iconic instrument, the congas, which are a set of African drums. One is bigger, one is smaller, and we play both at once to get a range of tones. When we shrink those congas and put them on your lap, you get the bongos, which provide the bass rhythm that forms the backbone of salsa music.

Aislyn: In Cuba, musicians blended various influences and created a rhythm known as son.

Angelina: Son becomes so influential that it sparks a musical revolution across the Caribbean. It evolves into various styles on different islands. In Cuba, it transitions from son to rumba to mambo to cha cha, or the cha cha cha. It’s the Puerto Ricans who take the Cuban son and shape it into salsa.

Aislyn: At the start of the 20th century, Puerto Rico became a U.S. territory, but salsa didn’t truly gain global popularity until the 1960s.

Angelina: Eventually, Puerto Ricans gain U.S. citizenship and many move to New York City, especially to Harlem. A part of Harlem, known as Spanish Harlem, grows with the arrival of Puerto Ricans during the Harlem Renaissance. This marks the rise of Nuyoricans—Puerto Ricans in New York—who are heavily influenced by Harlem’s jazz scene.

Aislyn: These Nuyoricans, such as Héctor Lavoe and Willie Colón, blended their island’s sounds with the powerful influence of Harlem jazz.

Angelina: And so, the focus shifts to the bold, energetic brass section—trumpets, trombones, and saxophones—infusing the Caribbean rhythms with a jazz twist, known as the swing. This new fusion takes the music into an entirely different genre.

Aislyn: The music became so popular that people realized a name was needed to define this fresh, new genre.

Angelina: We took elements from all these diverse cultures and blended them together, creating something like a flavorful sauce. Es una salsa. And that's why we call it salsa—the sauce. Of course, this sauce went global, and now people around the world are both listening to and dancing salsa.

Aislyn: Countries worldwide added their own flair to the dance, so now the Colombian salsa style differs from the Cuban and Mexican styles.

Angelina: And it's different from the salsa style in Puerto Rico. So tonight, I'm teaching you the Puerto Rican style, known as salsa de calle, or street salsa. This is where salsa was born—in the streets, with people just jamming out on instruments, and others dancing with steps, spins, and tricks in an incredibly organic way.

Aislyn: Angelina says salsa is deeply embedded in Puerto Rican culture, remaining a natural and vital part of it.

Angelina: From a young age, we’re surrounded by salsa. You’ll hear someone’s uncle playing the congas in the corner, and your aunt teaching you the steps. Before you know it, you’re practicing with your cousins at every family gathering. You dance at festivals, on the beach, in bars, and yes, even in the streets. This is the way I teach salsa—like your Puerto Rican auntie, Titi Angie. I'm here to show you how to dance salsa como mi familia. You ready?

Aislyn: We’re so ready! Angelina guides us through the basic step: forward-step-middle, back-step-middle, a rhythm that will be stuck in my head all night. Eventually, we get it right, and she cranks up the music, speeding us up.

Angelina: Time to pick up the pace! Dance! Forward step, middle. Back step, middle. Forward step, middle. Back step, middle. Forward step, middle. Back step, middle. Forward step, middle. Back step, middle. And forward! In three, four. And forward!

Aislyn: After an hour or so, Angelina decides we're ready to hit a real salsa club. We pile into cars and drive 10 minutes through the night. By 11 p.m., the club is buzzing. We’re not great, but we stumble through, laughing, dancing, and sweating. After a few songs, I take a break and grab a fruity, rum-laced drink. Standing on the edge, I watch the dancers—women in bright pants and cropped tops twirling, men in muscle shirts and sneakers moving with effortless elegance. It’s not about looking fancy; it’s about the dance, which feels more like a sport than anything else. Men dance with men, women with women, and partners switch up every song. The energy is contagious, and the sweat is real. Hours later, back in my hotel room, I fall asleep with the sound of trumpets and “forward step, middle, back step, middle” echoing in my head.

For the last two days of my stay in Puerto Rico, I check into La Concha, a stylish resort just steps from Condado Beach. The hotel exudes a cool, 1950s-inspired vibe, featuring multiple pools and the iconic seashell-shaped building that houses the Perla restaurant. It’s also home to San Juan’s hottest nightclub, 58. Naturally, we have to dive into reggaetón for this episode.

Petra Rivera Rideau: The exact origins are debated, but in terms of Puerto Rico, I’d say that in the late '80s and early '90s, Puerto Ricans living in urban areas like San Juan and Carolina were blending hip-hop influences from the U.S. with Jamaican dancehall and reggae en español from Panama to create something entirely new.

Aislyn: That’s Petra Rivera-Rideau, an associate professor of American studies at Wellesley College and the author of Remixing Reggaetón: The Cultural Politics of Race in Puerto Rico. Petra explains that while reggae en español began in Panama, some argue that it was the earliest form of reggaetón.

Petra: In Puerto Rico, youth were fusing all these sounds together. Much like the early days of hip-hop in the U.S., the DJ, or the person mixing the tracks, was the central figure. And then you’d have groups of rappers performing over long tracks, mostly in nightclubs and similar venues.

Aislyn: In the '90s, reggaetón was considered underground, circulating informally through mixtapes and parties without support from major record labels. That all changed in 2004 when Daddy Yankee emerged on the scene.

Petra: Many people are likely familiar with Daddy Yankee's 2004 hit “Gasolina”. When the song dropped, it really opened the floodgates for reggaetón, propelling the genre onto the global stage.

Aislyn: Daddy Yankee was an independent artist who founded his own label, El Cartel Records. While this gave him full creative control, the reason behind it was less than ideal: Major record labels wouldn’t sign him. By that time, reggaetón still carried a stigma from its underground roots.

Petra: When underground reggaetón was making its rounds in the mid-'90s, Puerto Rico was also grappling with rising crime, high unemployment, and a range of other social issues. These problems were deeply rooted in the long history of colonialism between Puerto Rico and the U.S., as well as systemic racism, disinvestment, and the structures that fuel urban poverty.

Aislyn: Petra mentions that in the mid-'90s, Puerto Rico saw the rise of a new governor, Pedro Rosselló, who campaigned on an anti-crime platform. His campaign was highly effective, and he won the election. Shortly after, he began implementing his plans—

Petra: —with the Mano Dura Contra el Crimen, or 'iron fist against crime.' The plan involved a joint effort between Puerto Rican police and the U.S. National Guard to raid public housing projects, which were seen as the hotbeds of criminal activity.

Aislyn: These authorities essentially take over these areas, creating a massive surveillance system. Underground music, and later reggaetón, becomes a cultural symbol of the resistance to this oppressive presence.

Petra: That’s part of the reason why, as I mentioned earlier, reggaetón didn’t have any major record label support until later—it wasn’t taken seriously by a lot of people in the beginning.

Aislyn: A big part of the stigma also stems from how women are portrayed in the genre. The lyrics can be explicit, to the point where censorship campaigns targeted reggaetón music videos in the early 2000s. Despite this backlash, reggaetón continued to grow.

Petra: Ironically, every time there was a crackdown, reggaetón only gained more popularity. The music spread informally, and with all the media attention, it reached a point in Puerto Rico during the early 2000s where it couldn’t be ignored any longer.

Aislyn: Petra acknowledges that while reggaetón has its strengths, there is also plenty of room for criticism.

Petra: Reggaetón can definitely have misogynistic elements, but I think whenever there's a public outcry, it often brings back the same criticisms that have been circulating for the last 30 years.

Aislyn: New, younger artists are reshaping reggaetón and its subgenres. Take Bad Bunny, for example, who uses his platform to speak out against sexism, violence against women, and to bring attention to systemic issues on the island. But it's not just him—there's a growing presence of queer and female artists, like RaiNao. A quick note: although RaiNao speaks English, she prefers to discuss her music in Spanish. So, you'll hear her mix both languages, and we've provided translations for the Spanish parts.

RaiNao: Eh, I’m RaiNao. I make music because it’s the most fulfilling and beautiful thing I can do with my life.

Aislyn: RaiNao and I are sitting in 58, hours before it opens. The place is dark, cool, and completely empty—a perfect setting to talk about her debut album, Capicú, which dropped in February 2024. She’s being hailed as a fresh voice in reggaetón, one of the women who’s taking the genre back and making it her own.

Aislyn: You've been credited with breaking up the boys’ club in reggaetón.

RaiNao: Amen. Amen.

Aislyn: Do you feel—it's not pressure, but do you ever feel like—

RaiNao: —that sense of responsibility? Hmm, no, I don’t. I think what we’re doing just comes so naturally. We’re simply finding our true selves, like everyone else, pursuing what we love: making music. We say what we want and express it how we feel.

Aislyn: RaiNao, born Naomi Ramirez, grew up surrounded by music in her family and studied it academically. Initially, though, she had dreams of becoming a surgeon. Music, however, won out, and now she's on the brink of stardom. Her sound is eclectic and layered, blending R&B, dancehall, salsa, and more. Growing up with a father who adored salsa, it's no surprise that style plays a big role in her work, though she’s the first to admit she’s no true salsera.

RaiNao: I can't make salsa the way a true salsero would, but I love to experiment with it—it's in my blood, and I can’t ignore that. I let myself explore freely, and when inspiration hits, I create without boundaries.

Aislyn: RaiNao grew up playing the saxophone and attended a school that welcomed both sighted and non-sighted students—an experience that left a profound mark on her.

RaiNao: One of the most remarkable things for me was seeing how they developed their heightened sense of hearing. It’s truly amazing how they learn to listen in such a unique way. That experience has taught me more than anything else in my life.

Aislyn: Now, she's celebrating the growing inclusivity in the urbano and reggaetón scenes.

RaiNao: There's a place for everyone here. The rise of women and queer voices has pushed the genre to new heights. Right now, anyone with fresh ideas and the courage to make reggaetón has a platform to be heard—and that's incredible to me.

Aislyn: Puerto Rico has always been great at giving young artists the space to grow and shine. In just twelve hours, 58 will be full of people dancing, laughing, and having a great time. While they host big-name performers, Leoner Pagan, the club's marketing director, says they also provide a stage for emerging talent.

Leoner Pagan: Puerto Rico is incredible. It’s home to so many talented artists who often have to leave the island to gain wider recognition. 58 has become the go-to venue for anyone wanting to perform—if you want to make it big, you either hit the Coliseo de Puerto Rico or you perform here at 58. Major artists have graced this stage, so for a rising artist to share the same platform as the legends is a huge opportunity for exposure.

Aislyn: Later that day, I’m back in my room with a view of the Atlantic Ocean, reflecting on everything with Herson Guerrero, a photographer, professor, and musician. He’s a huge fan of RaiNao and played a key role in setting up the interview. I ask him about his favorite musicians, and he responds, 'How much time do you have?'

Herson Guerrero: There are so many great musicians to choose from. Héctor Lavoe, one of the pioneers of salsa, is a legend. Personally, I’m a fan of Frankie Ruiz—his salsa has that special energy that makes you want to get up and dance. It’s what we call Salsa de la Gorda, old-school salsa at its finest. Then, in reggaetón, you’ve got the classic old-school vibe, and then there’s the modern sound. And of course, nothing compares to Héctor el Father, a reggaetón star who later became a pastor.

I’d recommend Daddy Yankee, Wisin & Yandel, and Tego Calderón—those are the big names. From there, reggaetón evolved into what we see today with global superstars like Bad Bunny and RaiNao, both pushing the boundaries and bringing something fresh to the table.

Bad Bunny incorporates all sorts of musical styles into his work. He honors the classics while also blending in new elements. And then there's merengue—if you want to hear the best of merengue, just look up Elvis Crespo. He’s still touring with his timeless hits, and honestly, I don’t even think he needs any new material; his old songs are still enough to fill stadiums, even in Europe.

Then there's Ricky Martin, you know, the pioneer. He’s the one who kick-started everything, the first big star to really make an impact. And of course, J.Lo, Jennifer Lopez. Puerto Rico has so much to offer, its musical influence has evolved tremendously over time. So yeah, I’d definitely encourage people to dive into both the new sounds and the old classics.

Aislyn: It’s an endless list, but don’t worry—we’ll have a playlist in the show notes. As the sun sets, I crack open a bottle of sparkling wine, and Herson and I reflect on how Puerto Rico has made such a huge mark on the world, despite its small size. It reminds me of something RaiNao said during our conversation.

RaiNao: Puerto Rico is an incredibly cultural island. It may be small, but it’s bursting with culture. The scene has always been vibrant, there’s always something happening—step outside, and you’ll hear music. Every weekend, there’s a party. It’s way more than people realize. It’s a magical place. There’s the scene everyone knows, and the scene that’s hidden. The one that you have to come to Puerto Rico to experience and understand for yourself.

Aislyn: As we clink our glasses, Herson sums it up perfectly.

Herson: It’s such a tiny island, only about 100 by 35 miles, but there’s so much talent and so much to offer—it’s incredible.

Aislyn: I completely agree. Puerto Rico has so much to offer, and honestly, this episode barely scratches the surface. There’s a whole world of musicians, songs, genres, and cultural layers that I just couldn’t fit in. As I learned during my week there, it would take years to fully explore the music of this extraordinary place.

So, I’ll be sharing some excellent resources in the show notes, including Petra Rivera-Rideau’s “Bad Bunny Syllabus” and the brilliant podcast La Brega, which delves into the Puerto Rican experience. Season two focuses on that experience through music, featuring eight iconic Puerto Rican songs, with each episode dedicated to a different track. It’s one of the things that kept me company as I explored the island.

I’ll also include links to Angelina’s Airbnb experiences, La Concha’s 58, and a playlist that highlights much of the music we discussed throughout the episode. It’s guaranteed to get you moving! And stay tuned for more Puerto Rico content: We’ll be releasing full interviews from the episode in the next few months, including Angelina’s tips on salsa dancing in Puerto Rico.

A big thank you to Yvette Figueroa from INGCO International, who helped with translation, and to Tata Cepeda.

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You’ve been listening to Unpacked, brought to you by Dinogo Media. Produced by Aislyn Greene and Nikki Galteland, with music composition by Chris Colin.

Remember: The world is complex, and we’re here to help you make sense of it.