What is the state of Latin music today?

Los Angeles Times

24-06-2025

From Bad Bunny and Karol G to Shakira and Peso Pluma, Latin artists continue to dominate the musical landscape on a global level. In a turn that once seemed unfathomable, Spanish-language music has become a mainstay in the top 10 of the U.S. Billboard 200 and Hot 100 charts, and in 2024 Latin music in the U.S. reached a record-breaking $1.4 billion in revenue.
But their influence is not only reflected in dollars and streaming numbers. The sounds emerging from Latin America have also grown increasingly progressive and adventurous, as reggaetón became a natural component of the pop DNA, and a radical generation of young singers and composers reinvented the tenets of música mexicana.
Artists such as Rosalía, Ca7riel & Paco Amoroso and Carín León navigate a sonic universe that is distinctly Latin and fueled by the poetry of the Spanish language. At the same time — more than ever before — their albums coexist comfortably next to mainstream trendsetters like Drake, the Weeknd or Ariana Grande. While remaining stubbornly true to its roots, la música latina has become a universal language, with stars like Ozuna and Karol G selling out stadiums and drawing big festival crowds across the U.S. and Europe.
But what will the future look like? Will the big Latin tsunami subside, like it did after Ricky Martin led the late 1990's explosion? Will música mexicana continue to captivate non-Spanish speakers? Will reggaetón fade away? Is rock finally dead?
De Los assembled a panel of acclaimed singer-songwriters from across Latin America to help us tackle some of these heavy existential dilemmas: Chilean songstresses Mon Laferte and Francisca Valenzuela, Colombian rock star Juanes, Cuban singer-songwriter Cimafunk and Jorge Hernández, leader of legendary norteño group Los Tigres del Norte, contributed their thoughts.
As much as I cherish the amazing moment that Latin music enjoys on a global scale, I'm concerned about the possibility of our sounds becoming one huge, walking cliché. I still remember the media's idiotic comments about us being so colorful and passionate during the Latin boom of the late '90s. Is the current splendor altogether positive, or are there shadows lurking in the background?
Mon Laferte: Clearly the fact that our music is resonating all over the world is an advantage, and it can open doors for so many of us. This doesn't necessarily represent the breadth of who we really are. The cultural richness of our continent is huge, and we can't expect the mainstream to embrace a chacarera, a tango, or the most alternative side of Latin indie. That said, there's a lot of ignorance out there and we all perceive each other as a bit of a cliché. I don't blame the rest of the world if they see us as hot people who spend their days dancing to salsa and reggaetón.
Cimafunk: I'm definitely one of the artists who benefited from the current Latin music wave. The way I see it, if the door is already open, gaining access to a bigger platform becomes easier. When I lived in Havana, I would see the great masters playing the same old classics at the bars for hours on end, and I thought that we had turned our traditions into a cliché. After I left Cuba, I realized that the clichés have an immense value. Latin music is everywhere, and there's a lot of power in that. Even in the old Michael Jackson records, you can hear the sound of bongó or maracas. And if we don't appreciate it ourselves, no one will do it for us. I think it's fine that our flow and culture are fashionable. Eso está rico.
Is the current wave of música mexicana sustainable? Will its sounds — and Peso Pluma — continue to capture the imagination of the mainstream?
Juanes: I hope they do. I love seeing young people performing this music, because it requires studying an instrument and you need to be somewhat of a virtuoso in order to do it well. The mere fact that a new generation of kids are celebrating their roots is nothing short of brilliant.
Mon Laferte: I think música mexicana is absolutely fantastic. It's the closest we have right now to rock and punk. Mexican music has always been rock-ish in spirit — sincere, rebellious, a direct message that invites you to rebel against the world. José Alfredo Jiménez is one of my favorite composers, and I love what the younger generations are doing. The kids play with the same kind of passion that their parents and grandparents had, but with a contemporary touch. Music is marvelous that way: it allows us to grow and evolve, while keeping the traditions alive.
Francisca Valenzuela: I love the concept of updating old genres; it's like they've been accessorized with the current trends. Whenever I'm in Mexico, I tune into that world. Many of those songs are self-deprecating, like a confession at a cantina. I know that those musicians are killing it right now, and I love it.
Jorge Hernández: Social media has done wonders in spreading our music to all corners of the world. I think it's valid, enriching and fun that the younger generations connect with new tendencies that are still based on our roots. Only the fans will determine if those tendencies will continue to thrive or not.
The popularity of urbano is unwavering. Will people ever tire of the ubiquitous reggaetón beat? Have we entered a post-reggaetón phase?
Cimafunk: The classic reggaetón of artists like Tego Calderón became a thing of the past a long time ago. Then there's the Cuban genre known as reparto, which was censored for a while and emerged from the streets. Now that I travel a lot, it's helped me to realize that people all over the world listen to tons of music that has nothing whatsoever to do with the sounds that are big in the U.S.
Is rock a cult genre? Is it on life support?
Juanes: Rock has definitely been displaced by other mainstream sounds, but it is far from dead. I see country occupying a similar space — almost like a cousin of rock — and also young blues artists who are reinventing the genre. The algorithms play a big part in how we perceive music; when, where and why we listen to it. They're almost like a giant monster that molds the mainstream. But I feel that rock is still there, and will return time and again.
Something I love about the present is that the conventional song structure of verse-chorus-bridge is out of the window. Now, you can have a chorus-verse-chorus song, or a verse-bridge-chorus variant and no one will call the police. Do you find this beautiful new chaos liberating, or does it frighten you?
Valenzuela: I have an attachment to structure, because it allows me to better communicate what I'm trying to say. I feel a certain urgency when it's time to write a song, so I choose tools that will facilitate the process. I've always created my music with an instrument, using melody and lyrics, so I don't break away from the established formats. I'm a romantic in that sense. I love the blank page, the poetry, the words — and I think I connect with that more than with the production side of it. I don't have the intimate connection with a computer that other artists have. If I was making music wearing the producer hat, I would probably play around with form. That said, I love the concept of breaking away from established canons. Innovation is always positive. It provides a new opportunity to showcase your creativity.
Mon Laferte: I've never felt a prisoner of traditional song structures. When I started songwriting at 15, I followed the records that I listened to because there were no other options. But the moment I understood my own universe, I began to experiment. Some of the tunes I wrote at 21 are nonsensical. I've always felt extremely free.
Cimafunk: In the beginning, I followed the classic parameters because of the music that I was listening to at the time. But when I realized that other methods were available, I said to myself: 'Wait a minute, I think I can tell this story in a different way.' Technology was essential for that. Then I started moving things around in the studio, like dragging a chorus to the intro. After all, the process is like a game, it's meant to be entertaining. We don't have a gigantic imaginary head anymore, telling us that only one channel is available. There are many channels, and you have direct access to the fans. Maybe it's not 200 million people, but even if they're only a thousand, they're your thousand, and they connect fully with your individual expression and flow.
Hernández: The idea of experimenting definitely sets me free. As a group, however, [Los Tigres del Norte] have agreed to stick to the established canons of songwriting structure.
What's next for popular music? Sometimes I think that a wide-eyed brother-and-sister duo will appear singing love songs with acoustic guitars, and people will hail them as visionaries. We've become so complicated and cosmopolitan. Is a return to simpler musical pleasures overdue?
Valenzuela: I love the verbosity of contemporary songs, the nonstop descriptive talking. Syllables and more syllables. There are no empty spaces; it's all chaos and urgency. The quest is the same for all — a finished song — but you can get there using different routes: samples, a loop, hyperpop, Spanglish, hi-fi or lo-fi. In the end, what matters is connecting with an energy that feels authentic.
Hernández: It would be marvelous to return to the purity of simple feelings. I'm thinking of a deep musical consciousness, a style that can touch both mind and soul without sounding pretentious. To us, songs like [the Tigres classic] 'Un Día a La Vez' are fresh water for the soul.
Juanes: I was just talking to a friend about how technology and AI have given us an absurd array of options. But with all that, the value of a human being singing or playing a guitar is even greater. No one wants to see a concert performance by a robot. If you had the chance to see the recent ABBA shows in London, you would quickly notice that it was seamless, but devoid of any soul. There's no comparison with seeing Metallica, Paul McCartney or Bruno Mars in a live setting as they play, dance and suffer in front of an audience.
If a young person wanted to study piano, guitar or violin, I would advise them not to be afraid of AI. You would never be able to replace the experience of writing an honest song inspired by vulnerable, personal experiences. That is something that cannot be quantified.