The Boricuas of Calle 13

Being an on and off fan of various Reggeatón artists, I've often thought about how this music is received in different parts of the world. The musical genre, whether you like it or not, is one, if not the, main export of Puerto Rico to the rest of the world (aside from Miss Universe hotties).

From humble beginnings in the Projects (residenciales) of PR to the streets and nightclubs the world over, the infectious beats and rhythms have proved their global appeal. Even so, at the level of lyrical content and visual style the genre has been plagued by sameness. That calle 13 has been been steadily building a loyal (and global) fan base under the radar reflects people's desire to see the genre expand beyond Don Omar, Tego Calderon, and the kingpin Daddy Yankee.

Enter the boys of Calle 13 with their bomb new documentary (Sin Mapa) making the rounds at international film festivals.
In sum, the film is a hybrid. It's a profile exploring the bands origins, their relationship with a growing fan base and their negotiation with success ("la fucking moda" as they call it). It's also a social commentary of sorts, on the plight of various indigenous groups in Latin America trying to preserve their traditions amid the shit storm of globalization, the precarious state of the global ecology, and the vapidity of fashion fueled consumption.

All in all, it's fun to watch some fellow young Boricuas traipse around offering unsolicited commentary on various people and places without being pedantic or patronizing. They deftly avoid the trap of the type of hollow, star studded documentaries that culminate in a guilt ridden call to action. What can you say, the boys are of their time. They understand that to connect in our age requires the requisite dose of absurdity laced with mockery and abuse of those who abuse.

What's also refreshing, as a fellow Boricua, is to see their treatment of widely contradictory cultural legacies affecting the island: close family versus broken homes, cultural unity versus minority exclusion, macho versus homo, and so on. More importantly, they do not shy away from exposing the continuing political and militaristic interventions that the U.S. carries out in the island with impunity.

Finally, perhaps in our age of resistance as chic, these types of new artists are just tapping into global anxiety and cynicism to sell more stuff with what's seemingly more "real" than anything else in our televisual trash heap. Even so, for the exluded, for the voiceless, it's a grand cathartic pleasure to watch artists with balls and irreverent insight speak the perverse truth to the absurd powers that rule our lives. In other words, "the Grammy's can suck my dick."

Here's to Calle 13. Pa lante, boys, pa lante.