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      Tokischa, la nueva rebelde de la música latina

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      SANTO DOMINGO, República Dominicana — Era una tarde de mediados de marzo, aquí en la capital, y una multitud de cientos de asistentes al festival vestidos con alas de hada, pedrería y pintura facial de arcoíris comenzó a corear. “¡Po-po-la!”, gritaban, empleando la jerga local para referirse a la vagina. La escena parecía la invocación al líder de un culto, y la incendiaria dominicana Tokischa, una rapera conocida por sus letras impúdicas y sus colaboraciones de alto nivel, salió al escenario.Durante la siguiente hora, la artista de 26 años habló de su bisexualidad, de los placeres carnales y de las drogas, todo acompañado de un ritmo estridente de dembow y trap. Esa noche llovía en el festival de la Isla de la Luz, el tipo de diluvio caribeño que llega en un abrir y cerrar de ojos. “¡Ay, pero yo me quiero mojar con ustedes!”, gritó, al salir de debajo del toldo del escenario y adentrarse en la multitud. Se desabrochó la blusa color azul, dejando al descubierto un sujetador cónico de satén color rosa intenso, y el público se volvió loco.El suelo, antes cubierto de hierba, ahora era una pista de obstáculos con charcos de lodo. Al parecer a nadie le importaba. Los admiradores coreaban cada palabra, con voces roncas. Una mujer se subió a una valla metálica y perreó por encima de la multitud. Cuando terminó su actuación, Tokischa, radiante, se sacó la ropa interior de debajo de la minifalda y se la lanzó a una mujer del público.Este es un pequeño ejemplo de la provocación que define a Tokischa Altagracia Peralta. Sus audaces letras, que se deleitan con la rebelión lingüística del argot dominicano y abrazan la euforia del sexo son, en su mayoría, impublicables. En “Tukuntazo”, se jacta de acostarse con otras mujeres junto con su hombre. En su himno “Yo no me voy acostar”, proclama: “Tengo pila ‘e Molly en la cabeza/ Tengo una amiguita que me besa”.“No tener miedo de expresar mi sexualidad, mi pensamientos, es como algo bonito”, aseguró la cantante.Josefina Santos para The New York TimesTokischa colecciona escándalos como si fuesen recuerdos de vacaciones. El año pasado, se vio obligada a pagar una multa municipal y a pedir disculpas públicas después de publicar fotos subidas de tono delante de un mural de la Virgen de la Altagracia, la patrona de la República Dominicana. En otoño, se presentó a una entrega de premios con un disfraz de vagina de tamaño natural, vestida como un personaje al que llamó “Santa Popola”. En un artículo de opinión ahora borrado, un columnista del periódico dominicano La Información afirmó que sus letras explícitas “faltan el respeto de una población que lucha por conservar los valores de la familia”.Sin embargo, también hay toda una generación de jóvenes dominicanos que se ven reflejados en el alegre rechazo que Tokischa despliega contra la respetabilidad. Para ellos, es una rebelde queer que ve la sexualidad de manera positiva, el tipo de figura cultural cuyas actuaciones apuntan a la liberación de las políticas opresivas y retrógradas.En una calle apartada del Malecón, el paseo marítimo que rodea la costa de Santo Domingo, Tokischa reflexionó sobre su irreverente reputación. Días antes del festival, la rapera acababa de llegar a las oficinas de Paulus Music, la discográfica y el equipo creativo que está detrás de sus videos. Llevaba puestos unos pantalones para correr de color verde oliva y una camiseta a juego con una imagen conocida y que se ha usado incontablemente para memes: el GIF de Homero Simpson escondiéndose en un arbusto.“Dicen muchas cosas de mí”, comentó. “Ah, que no es artista, que ella es loca, que es una drogadicta”, continuó. “Yo no me ofendo, porque yo soy clara de qué es lo que pasa conmigo. Yo sé quién es Tokischa, yo sé qué es lo que Tokischa está haciendo”.Tokischa y Rosalía en el escenario durante una actuación en 2021. Tokischa participa en “La Combi Versace”, una canción del último álbum de la estrella del pop español.John Parra/Telemundo and NBCU Photo Bank, vía Getty ImagesTokischa Altagracia Peralta nació en Los Frailes, un barrio obrero de Santo Domingo Este, pero tuvo una juventud itinerante. Sus padres se separaron y ella vivió con su madre hasta los 3 años. Cuando su madre se trasladó a Estados Unidos, Tokischa se mudó muchas veces, viviendo con tías, padrinos u otros familiares. Su padre fue encarcelado cuando ella era joven.Tokischa es la primera en admitir que era revoltosa en la escuela. “Yo peleaba. Me encontraban chuleando. ¡Siempre alguien me encontraba chuleando!”, dijo riendo. Solía responderle a sus maestros, por lo que fue expulsada de varias escuelas y, con frecuencia, era castigada físicamente, agregó.“Siempre era creativa”, recordó. “Dibujaba, escribía. Me trancaba en la habitación a verme en el espejo y actuar en el espejo”. Creció rodeada de géneros dominicanos como el merengue, el dembow y la bachata, pero cuando tenía 14 años descubrió todo un nuevo universo musical en línea con bandas como Pink Floyd y artistas como Bob Marley, Nicki Minaj, Rihanna.“Vivía imaginando mi vida, imaginando lo que iba a ser”, relató. “No sabía en qué rama, pero sabía que sí iba ser gran artista”.El primer tema oficial de Tokischa fue “Pícala”, una canción de trap con Tivi Gunz que se lanzó en 2018.Josefina Santos para The New York TimesCuando cumplió 18 años, una amiga la introdujo al sitio de anuncios clasificados Craigslist, y dijo que se convirtió en una sugar baby, que es como se le llama a una persona joven que acepta salir por mutuo acuerdo y con condiciones predefinidas con personas mayores que pueden ser hombres o mujeres; Tokischa recibía regalos de turistas sexuales estadounidenses mayores y adinerados. Uno de ellos le compró unas Puma Fenty, su primer par de zapatos deportivos. “Un tíguere tenía fotos montado en un camello”, dijo pícaramente sobre un hombre. “Yo dije: ‘¡Este tipo tiene cuartos!’”, refiriéndose a la jerga para el dinero.Aunque se muestra juguetona cuando habla al respecto, a Tokischa no le gustaba ese trabajo, sobre todo cuando los clientes cruzaban las líneas del consentimiento. De ahí pasó a OnlyFans, la plataforma por suscripción en la que la gente puede cobrar por dar acceso a fotos y videos, y con el tiempo empezó a modelar y a incorporarse a la comunidad creativa de Santo Domingo. Aprendió a escribir y grabar música tras conocer a productores de la escena a través de su representante, Raymi Paulus. Rápidamente cultivó su estilo vocal, que ahora es su arma principal: un inconfundible gemido agudo y tímido que rezuma sexo y permite que sus endiablados y sensuales raps se pronuncien con precisión.Su primer sencillo oficial fue “Pícala”, una canción de trap con Tivi Gunz que lanzó en 2018. Luego vino una serie de sencillos del estilo dembow, igualmente picantes: “Desacato escolar”, con Yomel El Meloso; “El rey de la popola”, con Rochy RD; y “Yo no me voy a acostar”, del año pasado, entre muchos otros.Las grandes discográficas no tardaron en llegar: el verano pasado, lanzó “Perra” con la estrella colombiana del reguetón J Balvin. Luego vino “Linda” y, más recientemente, “La combi Versace”, ambos con la estrella española Rosalía. En marzo, terminó su primera gira por Estados Unidos, al agotar las entradas de la Terminal 5 de Nueva York en 30 minutos. A finales de mes publicará un sencillo con el productor de EDM Marshmello y tiene previsto grabar un álbum completo en los próximos dos años.“Ella es diferente de lo que la gente ve, o sea, ella es muy profesional, muy disciplinada”, dice LeoRD, el superproductor de dembow que ha colaborado con Tokischa en varias canciones. Durante una llamada telefónica, dijo que su ascenso no tiene precedentes en el mundo del dembow. “En tan poco tiempo, con tan pocas canciones, he visto la evolución de ella que ha ido a millón”.“Dicen muchas cosas de mí”, comentó. “Yo no me ofendo, porque yo soy clara de qué es lo que pasa conmigo. Yo sé quién es Tokischa, yo sé qué es lo que Tokischa está haciendo”.Josefina Santos para The New York TimesEl rápido ascenso de Tokischa ha sido polarizador. Para algunos, es una desviada sexual que pone en peligro a los niños, o una víctima del abandono y las circunstancias difíciles. Para otros, es una mujer que se cosifica a sí misma y que solo satisface las fantasías masculinas. Y para otros, es una feminista intrépida cuyo espíritu insurgente está abriendo camino. El verano pasado, actuó en Santo Domingo en el desfile del orgullo gay dominicano y presentó a mujeres trans como extras y bailarinas en el video de “Linda”, lo que atrajo elogios de toda la comunidad LGBTQ. El blog de belleza Byrdie escribió que ella se “aleja de manera activa de la mirada masculina y hacia la liberación femenina”, y lo hace en una industria de la música latina que a menudo favorece a los artistas blancos.Sin embargo, no todo ha sido color de rosa. En otoño pasado, las activistas feministas y el vicepresidente de Colombia condenaron la representación de las mujeres negras en el video de “Perra”, la canción de Tokischa y J Balvin, donde las mujeres negras estaban caracterizadas como perros, y Balvin, un colombiano blanco, caminaba con una actriz que andaba a cuatro patas con una cadena alrededor de su cuello.Después de que se eliminara el video de YouTube, Balvin emitió una disculpa. Luego, Tokischa le dijo a Rolling Stone que realmente lamentaba “que la gente se haya sentido ofendida”, pero que la puesta en escena era conceptual y estaba destinada a ilustrar las metáforas de la canción. “Estábamos en RD [República Dominicana]; allá toditos somos morenos”, dijo sobre las críticas del video en una entrevista para un pódcast en diciembre. “No fue que nosotros fuimos a África, ni a los Estados Unidos para buscar esas mujeres”. Como era de esperarse, el comentario suscitó críticas de algunos fanáticos en Twitter que creían que estaba desestimando las preocupaciones válidas sobre la representación de las mujeres negras como animales.La reacción muestra cómo los fanáticos demandan cada vez más que las estrellas pop sean progresistas, en especial las figuras vanguardistas como Tokischa. “Desde el primer día que empecé hacer musica, yo dije: ‘Voy a hablar mi verdad’”, dijo. En una entrevista de radio que concedió el año pasado, lo dijo de una manera diferente: “Yo solo hablo de mí. De mi vivencia. Yo no me siento responsable de arreglar la sociedad”.Tokischa sigue siendo una agitadora, y resulta necesaria. “No tener miedo de expresar mi sexualidad, mi pensamientos, es como algo bonito”, aseguró. “Hay mucha gente que tiene miedo de decir lo que son, porque los botan de su casa, los botan del trabajo, pierden amistades. Pero tú no estás mal. Tú estás haciendo lo que tu corazón te dice”.“Yo tengo mucho más mensajes que dar”, continuó. “Pero es el momento de este mensaje, y yo me lo disfruto”.Isabelia Herrera es crítica de arte del programa de becarios del Times. Da cobertura a la cultura popular, con especial atención a la música latinoamericana y estadounidense. Antes fue editora colaboradora en Pitchfork y ha escrito para Rolling Stone, Billboard, GQ, NPR y más. @jabladoraaa More

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      Tokischa, Latin Music’s Newest Rebel, Isn’t Holding Back

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      SANTO DOMINGO, Dominican Republic — On a mid-March evening here in the capital, a crowd of hundreds of festivalgoers wearing fairy wings, rhinestones and rainbow face paint began to chant. “Po-po-la!” they shouted, deploying the local slang for vagina. The scene resembled the summoning of a cult leader, and the Dominican firebrand Tokischa, a rapper known for her prurient lyrics and high-profile collaborations, emerged onstage.For the next hour, the 26-year-old performer rapped about her bisexuality, carnal pleasures and doing drugs, all over speaker-frying dembow and trap beats. It was raining at the Isle of Light festival that night, the kind of Caribbean deluge that arrives in a flash. “I want to get wet with you guys!” she shrieked, walking out from under the stage awning and into the crowd. She unbuttoned her periwinkle blouse, revealing a hot-pink conical satin bra underneath, and the audience squealed.The ground, once covered in grass, was now an obstacle course of mud puddles. No one seemed to care. Fans belted every word, their voices audibly hoarse. One woman climbed a metal fence, twerking above the crowd. When her set ended, Tokischa, beaming, pulled her panties off from under her miniskirt and tossed them to a woman in the audience.Consider this a minor example of the provocation that defines Tokischa Altagracia Peralta. Her audacious lyrics, which revel in the linguistic rebellion of Dominican slang and embrace the euphoria of sex, are mostly unprintable. In “Tukuntazo,” she brags about sleeping with other women alongside her man. In her anthem “Yo No Me Voy Acostar,” she proclaims, “I’ve got a bunch of molly in my head/I have a girlfriend who kisses me.”“Not being afraid to express my sexuality, my way of thinking — it’s a beautiful thing,” Tokischa said.Josefina Santos for The New York TimesTokischa collects scandals like vacation souvenirs. Last year, she was forced to pay a municipal fine and issue a public apology after she posted risqué photos in front of a mural of the Virgin of Altagracia, the patron saint of the Dominican Republic. In the fall, she showed up to an awards show in a full-size vagina costume, dressed as a character she called “Santa Popola.” In a now deleted op-ed, a columnist for the Dominican newspaper La Información claimed her explicit lyrics “disrespect people who fight to conserve family values.”But there is also an entire generation of young Dominicans who see themselves in Tokischa’s gleeful refusal of respectability. To them, she is a sex-positive queer rebel, the kind of cultural figure whose performances gesture toward liberation from oppressive, retrograde politics.On a tucked-away street off the Malecón, the seafront esplanade that lines the coast of Santo Domingo, Tokischa reflected on her irreverent reputation. It was a few days before the festival, and the rapper had just arrived at the offices of Paulus Music, the label and creative team behind her videos. She wore olive green joggers and a matching T-shirt with a familiar, eternally memed image: the GIF of Homer Simpson retreating into a bush.“They say a lot of things about me,” she said. “‘Oh, she’s not an artist, she’s crazy, she’s a drug addict,’” she continued. “It doesn’t offend me, because I’m sure of who I am. I know who Tokischa is. I know what Tokischa’s doing.”Tokischa and Rosalía onstage in 2021. Tokischa appears on “La Combi Versace” from the Spanish pop phenom’s latest album.John Parra/Telemundo and NBCU Photo Bank, via Getty ImagesTokischa Altagracia Peralta was born in Los Frailes, a working-class neighborhood in Santo Domingo Este, but had an itinerant youth. Her parents separated, and she lived with her mother until she was 3 years old. When her mother relocated to the United States, Tokischa moved around often, living with aunts, godparents or other relatives. Her father was incarcerated when she was young.Tokischa is the first to admit that she was rowdy in school. “I would fight. They’d find me making out — someone always found me making out!” she said with a laugh. She talked back to her teachers and was expelled from schools — and was often punished physically, she added.“Aside from that, I was always creative,” she recalled. “I’d draw, I’d write. I’d lock myself in my room and act in front of the mirror.” She grew up surrounded by Dominican genres like merengue, dembow and bachata, but when she was around 14, she discovered a whole new musical universe online: Pink Floyd, Bob Marley, Nicki Minaj, Rihanna.“I lived dreaming up my life, imagining what I’d become,” she said. “I didn’t know in what field, but I did know I was going to be a big artist.”Tokischa’s first official single was “Pícala,” a trap song featuring Tivi Gunz that arrived in 2018. Josefina Santos for The New York TimesWhen she turned 18, a friend introduced her to Craigslist, and she said she became a sugar baby, receiving gifts from older, wealthy American sex tourists. One bought her Fenty Pumas, her first pair of sneakers. “This one guy had photos of himself on a camel,” she said impishly. “I was like, ‘He’s got money!’”Even though she’s playful as she talks about it, Tokischa didn’t like the work, especially when clients crossed the lines of consent. She transitioned to OnlyFans, the subscription-based platform where people can charge for access to photos and videos, and eventually started modeling and incorporating herself into the creative community in Santo Domingo. She learned how to write and record music after meeting producers in the scene through her manager, Raymi Paulus. She swiftly cultivated her vocal style, now her central weapon: an unmistakable, high-pitched, coy moan that oozes sex and allows her devilish, sensual raps to land with precision.Her first official single was “Pícala,” a trap song featuring Tivi Gunz that dropped in 2018. Then came a torrent of equally racy dembow singles: “Desacato Escolar,” with Yomel El Meloso; “El Rey de la Popola,” with Rochy RD; and last year’s “Yo No Me Voy Acostar,” among many others.The major labels soon came running: Last summer, she released “Perra” with the Colombian reggaeton star J Balvin. Then came “Linda,” and more recently “La Combi Versace,” both with the Spanish experimentalist Rosalía. In March, she completed her first U.S. tour, selling out Terminal 5 in New York in 30 minutes. She has a single with the EDM producer Marshmello arriving at the end of the month, and plans to record a full album over the next two years.“She’s different than people imagine. She’s very professional, very disciplined,” said LeoRD, the superstar dembow producer who’s collaborated with Tokischa on several tracks. In a phone call, he said that her climb has been unprecedented in the world of dembow. “In so little time, with just a few songs, I’ve seen her evolution go from zero to 100.”“They say a lot of things about me,” she said. “It doesn’t offend me, because I’m sure of who I am. I know who Tokischa is. I know what Tokischa’s doing.”Josefina Santos for The New York TimesTokischa’s rapid rise has been divisive. For some, she is a sexual deviant endangering children, or a victim of neglect and difficult circumstances. To others, she’s a self-objectifying woman who’s just satisfying male fantasies. And to still others, she is a fearless feminist whose insurgent spirit is breaking ground. Last summer, she performed in Santo Domingo at the Dominican Pride parade, and featured trans women as extras and dancers in the video for “Linda,” which drew praise from across the L.G.B.T.Q. community. The beauty blog Byrdie wrote that she’s “actively moving the needle away from the male gaze and towards female liberation,” and doing so in a Latin music industry that often favors white artists.It hasn’t all been rosy, though. Last fall, feminist activists and Colombia’s vice president condemned the portrayal of Black women in Tokischa and J Balvin’s video for “Perra,” in which Black women wear prosthetics that depict them as dogs, and Balvin, a white Colombian, walks one actress, who is on all fours with a chain around her neck.After the video was removed from YouTube, Balvin issued an apology. Tokischa later told Rolling Stone that she was “truly sorry people felt offended,” but that the visual was conceptual, intended to illustrate the song’s metaphors. “We were in the Dominican Republic; over there, we’re all Black,” she said of the backlash in a December podcast interview. “It wasn’t like we went to Africa or the United States to find those women.” Unsurprisingly, the comment drew criticism from some fans on Twitter for dismissing valid concerns about the animalistic depiction of Black women.The reaction illustrated how fans increasingly demand progressivism from pop stars, especially disrupters like Tokischa. “Since the first day I started making music, I said, ‘I’m going to speak my truth,’” she said. In a radio interview last year, she made the point a different way: “I only talk about me, my life,” she said. “I don’t feel like I’m responsible for fixing society.”Tokischa is still an agitator, and a necessary one. “Not being afraid to express my sexuality, my way of thinking — it’s a beautiful thing,” she said. “There’s a lot of people who are scared to say who they are, because they’re kicked out of their houses, they’re fired from their jobs, they lose friends. But you’re not bad — you’re doing what your heart is telling you.”“I have a lot of other messages to offer,” she continued. “But now is the moment for this message, and I’m loving it.” More

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      Selena’s Family Announces New Album, 27 Years After Her Death

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      A record featuring the singer’s digitally altered voice is expected to be released by next month, her father said.Nearly three decades after the singer Selena was killed, a new album featuring recordings by the Grammy Award-winning Tejano music star is expected to be released, her family has announced.In a video interview with Latin Groove News last week, Abraham Quintanilla Jr., the singer’s father, described the forthcoming album, expected to be available by next month, as a family effort. It will feature 13 songs, with new arrangements by her brother A.B., and artwork by her sister, Suzette, Mr. Quintanilla said.Three songs are new versions of previously released tracks, and at least one song will feature Selena’s upbeat soprano voice, recorded when she was 13 years old and digitally modified, Mr. Quintanilla said.“What’s unique about it is, not only is the music completely new arrangements, my son worked on Selena’s voice with computers and if you listen to it she sounds on this recording like she did right before she passed away,” Mr. Quintanilla said. “It sounds incredible.”In an interview last year with Tino Cochino Radio, A.B. said he remixed all of Selena’s vinyls and “detuned her voice,” rendering it deeper and closer to how she sounded in her 20s.Further details about the album are unavailable, including how much of it features Selena’s voice. A spokesman for Warner Music Group, which Mr. Quintanilla said is releasing the album, did not respond to multiple requests for comment.Joe Bennett, a forensic musicologist and professor at Berklee College of Music, said that digitally aging a voice was a simple process that could potentially require just an isolated recording of the singer and the appropriate digital software.Born Selena Quintanilla-Pérez in Lake Jackson, Texas, on April 16, 1971, the Mexican-American singer became a leading star of Tejano music — a blend of corrido, mariachi and polka music — with hits including “Bidi Bidi Bom Bom,” “Como La Flor” and “Amor Prohibido.” During her abbreviated career, she dominated the Billboard Latin music rankings.Before she was fatally shot on March 31, 1995, at age 23 by the president of her fan club, Selena was aiming for more mainstream success by recording a crossover album.Since her death, Selena’s popularity has grown. Fans continue to celebrate her music and emulate her signature style of red lipstick and wispy, curled bangs. Jennifer Lopez portrayed her in a 1997 movie, and a Netflix show about Selena’s rise to fame, titled “Selena: The Series,” was released last year.Her family has cultivated the public’s fascination with the singer, from collaborating on the Netflix show, to releasing an unfinished song of hers in 2015. Mr. Quintanilla told Latin Groove News said that soon after his daughter’s death, he committed to keeping her memory alive with her music.“I think that we have done that,” he said. “The public still remembers Selena. They haven’t let her go, and so they are waiting for a project like this to come out and I know that it will be well received by the public.” More

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      Romeo Santos’s Melodramatic Return, and 13 More New Songs

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      Hear tracks by Jack Harlow, Flock of Dimes, Tame Impala and others.Every Friday, pop critics for The New York Times weigh in on the week’s most notable new songs and videos. Just want the music? Listen to the Playlist on Spotify here (or find our profile: nytimes). Like what you hear? Let us know at theplaylist@nytimes.com and sign up for our Louder newsletter, a once-a-week blast of our pop music coverage.Romeo Santos, ‘Sus Huellas’“Sus Huellas,” the first single from Romeo Santos’s forthcoming fifth solo album, “Formula, Vol. 3,” finds him reprising the bleeding-heart theatrics he’s known for, recalling the kind of cortavenas (roughly, “wrist cutting”) torment of bachata classics. This time, the genre’s white-pants-wearing, antics-obsessed lover boy is trying to recover from the despair of a lost love, and the melodrama is in overdrive: “Come, pull out my veins/Because the plasma inside of me has the poison of her love,” he sings. “And take this lighter, I want you to burn my lips/Eliminate the taste of her tongue, which did me harm.” It’s not all tradition though; Santos drops in an EDM interlude that will have uptown clubs losing it. ISABELIA HERRERAJack Harlow, ‘Nail Tech’Last year Jack Harlow went to No. 1 as the guest on Lil Nas X’s “Industry Baby,” and he’s learned something from that experience. “Nail Tech” has echoes of that song’s horns, and Harlow approaches the beat similarly, with imagistic rapping — “You ain’t one of my dogs, why do you hound us?” — and a confidence that makes this song sound like a victory lap. JON CARAMANICAC. Tangana, Omar Montes, Daviles de Novelda and Canelita, ‘La Culpa’The Spanish singer-rapper C. Tangana gets top billing on “La Culpa” (“The Blame”), a song added to the deluxe version of his 2021 Latin Grammy-winning album “El Madrileño.” But except for a brief, vulnerable bridge, he spends most of the song merged in harmony with three other singers who are more robust and closer to flamenco — Omar Montes, Daviles de Novelda and the especially gutsy Canelita — while rock drums and electric guitars join flamenco handclaps to pace the song. While the lyrics profess guilt and regret, they’re delivered with jolly camaraderie, suggesting that male bonding can easily overcome pangs of conscience. JON PARELESTame Impala, ‘The Boat I Row’Kevin Parker, a.k.a. the one-man studio band Tame Impala, took so long to release his 2020 album, “The Slow Rush,” that of course he had outtakes. “The Boat I Row” is from his collection “The Slow Rush B-Sides and Remixes.” It shares the album’s stately, logy, time-warped sound — psychedelically phased drums playing a hip-hop beat, multitracked vocal harmonies suggesting both the Beatles and ELO — and its thoughts about dogged persistence. “Even if it takes a hundred thousand goes/The way’s in front of me ’cause that’s the one I chose,” Parker sings, at once diffident and determined. PARELESFlock of Dimes, ‘Pure Love’Jenn Wasner, who records as Flock of Dimes, ponders unsatisfied desire — material and emotional — in “Pure Love,” recorded with the producer Nick Sanborn from Sylvan Esso: “I keep dreaming of a better moment,” she sings. She’s surrounded by looped voices and instruments, with ricocheting programmed beats that hit like 1980s drums; she sounds like she’ll persist. PARELESAsa, ‘Ocean’The songwriter Asa has forged a long career in Nigeria, singing about adversity and conflict as well as romance. But “Ocean” is pure affection. Asa is about to release her fifth studio album, “V,” and “Ocean” distills the ways Nigerian Afrobeats exalts Minimalism. The percussion is just a few syncopated taps, the bass lines are only two or three notes and Asa’s breathy voice floats with professions of pure devotion: “Boy, you are the ocean,” she coos, and everything about the song promises bliss. PARELESYeat featuring Young Thug, ‘Outsidë’Two generations of surrealists in one liquid pool of syllables. Yeat is still swooning over abstraction, and Young Thug, several years older, has learned how to form word-like shapes while still seeming to melt in real time. CARAMANICASigurd Hole, ‘The Presentation Dance’Like so many, the Norwegian bassist Sigurd Hole — a nimble-fingered player and a composer of sonically expansive, thoughtfully paced music — has been overcome with dismay at the fast-worsening climate crisis. Like too few, in the face of it he’s sought out wisdom and theory from non-industrialized societies. “The Presentation Dance” comes from his newest album, “Roraima,” which he made after reading “The Falling Sky,” a book by the Yanomami shaman and mouthpiece Davi Kopenawa. The rain-like pitter-patter of a marimba interacts with a small corps of strings, playing fluid and intertwined melodies that sometimes fall into a pizzicato repartee with the marimba’s mallets. GIOVANNI RUSSONELLOEd Sheeran featuring Bring Me the Horizon, ‘Bad Habits’Last week Ed Sheeran released a new version of his song “The Joker and the Queen,” accompanied by Taylor Swift. Pfft. Predictably pretty. Plain. This is more like it. “Bad Habits” is maybe Sheeran’s most anodyne pop hit, and this version, which is theatrically stomped all over by the British metalcore band Bring Me the Horizon, rescues it, recalling the essential and overlooked “Punk Goes Pop” compilation series. CARAMANICAFrontperson, ‘Parade’Frontperson is the indie-rock duo of Kathryn Calder, from the New Pornographers, and Mark Hamilton, from Woodpigeon. Blooping, calliope-like keyboard arpeggios and layers of nonsense-syllable vocals give “Parade” a blithe, circusy tone as Calder and Hamilton sing about anticipation, connection and disconnection, accepting it all: “Sometimes you’re left/Sometimes you leave.” PARELESAmbar Lucid, ‘Dead Leaves’Ambar Lucid’s music bottles youthful longing. The 21-year-old, whose debut album, “Garden of Lucid,” collected stories about escape and radical self-acceptance, seems to know exactly how to stir the soul. “Should I even bother letting anybody know how I feel?” she wonders on “Dead Leaves.” It’s soft winter balladry that contains all the pain and promise of the change of seasons. HERRERAHurray for the Riff Raff, ‘Jupiter’s Dance’“Jupiter’s Dance” is from the newly released “Life on Earth,” the seventh album Alynda Segarra has made as Hurray for the Riff Raff. The new songs contemplate the natural world and humanity’s toll on it. “Jupiter’s Dance” is a quasi-mystical reassurance — “Celestial children coming through/You never know who you’ll become” — with a glimmering bell tones and an undercurrent of Puerto Rican bomba, a brief benediction. PARELESJavon Jackson featuring Nikki Giovanni, ‘Night Song’The poet Nikki Giovanni selected the repertoire for “The Gospel According to Nikki Giovanni,” a new album by the strapping tenor saxophonist Javon Jackson that explores the lineage of Black American spirituals and hymns. But her voice appears on only one track, and it’s the one that’s not a church melody: “Night Song.” Rather that recite her own poetry, Giovanni sings this ode to unbelonging — a favorite of her old friend Nina Simone — with wistful conviction, picking up where Jackson’s gentle treatment of the melody leaves off. Her voice crinkles up on the high notes but loses none of its gravitas or tenderness as she sings: “Music, by the lonely sung/When you can’t help wondering:/Where do I belong?” RUSSONELLOChris Dingman, ‘Silently Beneath the Waves’For the vibraphonist Chris Dingman, solo playing was becoming central to his practice even before the pandemic hit. Since then, it’s been his primary mode, and he’s increasingly sought to use the big, chiming instrument as a vehicle for transcendence. That pursuit has guided him into a close study of a far tinier instrument: the mbira, a thumb piano with spiritual applications across southern Africa. On “Silently Beneath the Waves” — the opener to a new album of solo performances, “Journeys Vol. 1” — you can hear evidence of that research, as he repeats fetching, hypnotizing patterns that pull you into their force field before gradually giving way to a different shape. RUSSONELLO More

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      Tito Matos, Virtuoso of a Puerto Rican Sound, Dies at 53

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      A lifelong champion of the plena genre, he helped rejuvenate it for a new generation both in Puerto Rico and in New York.Tito Matos, a master percussionist, revered educator and lifelong champion of the Puerto Rican style of music known as plena, died on Jan. 18 in San Juan, P.R. He was 53.His wife, Mariana Reyes Angleró, said the cause was a heart attack.Mr. Matos was a virtuoso of the requinto, the smallest and highest-pitched hand-held drum, or pandereta, used in plena. Rooted in African song traditions, plena emerged in the early 20th century on the southern coast of Puerto Rico and came to be known as “el periódico cantado,” or “the sung newspaper.” In street-corner style, it narrated stories, some gossipy, about love and the concerns of everyday working-class and Black Puerto Ricans. In its early years, wealthy elites maligned the genre.Mr. Matos was a member of multiple plena groups but first gained wide recognition with the band Viento de Agua, founded in New York in 1996. It reimagined plena and bomba, another Afro-Puerto Rican style of music and dance, by infusing them with jazz textures, exuberant horn sections and Cuban batá rhythms.For Mr. Matos, the band’s first album, “De Puerto Rico al Mundo” (1998), opened the door to a dynamic career that transformed him into one of the foremost plena practitioners of his generation.Héctor René Matos Otero was born on June 15, 1968, in the Río Piedras district of San Juan, one of three children of Héctor Matos Gámbaro and Hilda I. Otero Maldonado. His father was an accountant and a salsa enthusiast; his mother is a homemaker.Raised in Villa Palmeras, a barrio of the Santurce section that is considered a nexus of bomba and plena, Héctor embraced plena as an 8-year-old when his grandfather gave him his first pandereta, for the Three Kings Day holiday. Héctor had no formal musical training and could not read sheet music, but his love for plena was planted.He moved to New York in 1994 and eventually completed a degree in landscape architecture at City College. He entered a new diasporic community of musicians, joining Los Pleneros de la 21, an intergenerational East Harlem ensemble, and learning from plena masters who had migrated to New York in the 1940s and ’50s.Mr. Matos, third from left, playing the pandereta in 2014. “He got a lot of young people to just pick up a pandereta,” a friend said, “who were not necessarily interested in plena.”Hiroyuki Ito for The New York TimesIn New York, he met Ricardo Pons and Alberto Toro, two saxophonist-arrangers. “Tito was addicted to plena,” Mr. Pons said in a phone interview. “Un fiebrú,” he added, laughing, “like he had a fever.”Historically, only certain families were custodians of plena, charged with keeping its traditions and rhythms alive. “It was a problem, because they were very restrictive,” Mr. Matos said in an interview in 2010.Instead, Viento de Agua sought innovation. “It was not about conserving plena or bomba,” Mr. Pons said; “it was about doing whatever we wanted with it.”The group’s album “De Puerto Rico al Mundo” was infused with an irreverent, imaginative spirit. Writing in The New York Times, Peter Watrous praised it as “exuberant and raucous.”The group performed in Mexico, Cuba and across the United States, sometimes accompanied by a full jazz band.“Tito was super, super gregarious and charismatic,” Ed Morales, a journalist, author and friend of Mr. Matos, said in a phone interview. Mr. Matos, he added, had a special ability to reach Puerto Ricans both on the island and in the diaspora and instill in them a sense of communion — particularly when he performed at a biennial concert at Hostos Community College in the Bronx.“You really got to feel the connection between people in Puerto Rico and people in New York more than almost any other place,” Mr. Morales said.In the early 2000s Mr. Matos returned to Puerto Rico, where he became an educator and cultural advocate. He co-founded Plenazos Callejeros, a monthly initiative that gathered musicians across Puerto Rico for spontaneous plena performances on street corners.“He got a lot of young people to just pick up a pandereta,” Mr. Morales said — “people who were not necessarily interested in plena, because maybe they thought it sounded corny or something, or it wasn’t like salsa or hip-hop or reggaeton.”Today, plena is undergoing a cultural renaissance; in recent years it has played a central role in progressive political gatherings and protests in Puerto Rico, including those in the summer of 2019 that led to the resignation of Gov. Ricardo Rosselló.Subsequent projects led Mr. Matos to collaborate with stars like Eddie Palmieri, Ricky Martin and the jazz saxophonist and composer Miguel Zenón. Mr. Matos later founded the band La Máquina Insular, which focused on returning plena back to its roots.In 2015, he and his wife founded La Junta, a bar and performance space in Santurce, where they hosted live music and plena workshops. Hurricane Maria destroyed the space in 2017, but its spirit was revived in “La Casa de la Plena,” a historical exhibition, curated by the couple, that opened in May 2021 at the Taller Comunidad La Goyco, a community center they established in an abandoned Santurce school building they had renovated.In addition to his mother and his wife, whom he married in 2013, Mr. Matos is survived by their son, Marcelo; two children from previous marriages that ended in divorce, Celiana and Héctor; a brother, Yan Matos Otero; and a sister, Glennis Matos Otero.A procession this month honoring Mr. Matos in San Juan drew hundreds.Taller Comunidad – La GoycoOn Jan. 21, Mr. Matos was honored with an immense procession in Santurce. Friends, family members and dozens of fans walked the streets, drumming on panderetas and singing words of gratitude. “Muchas gracias, te amamos,” they chanted — “Thank you very much. We love you.” More

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      Elza Soares, 91, Who Pushed the Boundaries of Brazilian Music, Dies

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      She rose from a favela in Rio to samba stardom in the 1960s. But her career was later overshadowed by an affair with a famous soccer player that became a national scandal.Elza Soares, the samba singer whose meteoric rise from the favela to stardom was later eclipsed by a scandalous affair with one of Brazil’s most famous soccer stars, died on Thursday at her home in Rio de Janeiro. She was 91.Her death was announced in a statement on her official Instagram account, which added that she “sang until the end.”With fine features that led to comparisons with Eartha Kitt and a rough voice that was reminiscent of Louis Armstrong, Ms. Soares became one of the few Black women singers in Brazil to be featured in films in the 1960s and on television in the ’70s.Her first album, “Se Acaso Você Chegasse” (“If You Happen to Stop By”), released in 1960, introduced scat singing into samba. Her second, “A Bossa Negra” (1961), was conspicuously lacking in bossa nova. Instead, it featured the kind of samba popular in the favelas, thus reclaiming the African roots of a sound whose international success stemmed from taking away samba’s drums and adding complex jazz harmonies.As her fame grew, she remained true to her roots. “I never left the favela,” she liked to tell reporters, and she often finished shows thanking audiences for “every scrap of bread that my children ate.”Such talk was almost unheard-of in the 1960s in Brazil, where — despite a yawning gap between rich and poor, and despite a larger Black population than any other country outside Nigeria — publicly discussing issues of poverty and race was considered inelegant.RCA Records declined to offer her a contract after learning that she was Black, and she spent years singing in Copacabana nightclubs before being signed to Odeon Records in 1960, where she began a long recording career subtly — and sometimes not so subtly — pushing the boundaries of Brazilian music.But by the 1980s, she was perhaps better known as the wife of the soccer star known as Mané Garrincha — considered in Brazil to be second only to Pelé — than for her music. When Garrincha left his wife and eight children to marry Ms. Soares, it was a national scandal. She was widely disparaged and labeled a home wrecker. Angry fans pelted their house in Rio with stones and even fired shots at it.Ms. Soares and the soccer star known as Mané Garrincha in an undated photo. When he left his wife and eight children to marry Ms. Soares, it was a national scandal.Associated PressIt wasn’t until the early 2000s, long after the death of her husband, that Ms. Soares staged an unlikely comeback, embracing younger composers and producers who were just beginning to discover her music. Her new songs were even more direct than her earlier ones in addressing social issues, openly advocating for the rights of Black people, gay people, and especially women.Elza Gomes da Conceição was born on June 23, 1930, in Rio de Janeiro’s Padre Miguel favela. Her mother, Rosária Maria da Conceição, was a washerwoman; her father, Avelino Gomes, was a bricklayer who played guitar and liked samba music.Her father forced her to marry Lourdes Antônio Soares when she was 12; by the age of 21, she was a widow and the mother of five.She said it was a desperate need to buy medicine for a sick child that led her to take a chance singing at a popular radio talent show when she was 15. She showed up in pigtails and a dress, borrowed from her mother, hemmed in with safety pins. She was nearly laughed offstage until the show’s host, Ary Barbosa, asked her what planet she had come from. She disarmed him with her reply: “The same planet as you — Planet Hunger.”“At that moment everyone who was laughing sat down in their seats and everyone was quiet. I finished singing and he hugged me, saying, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, at this exact moment a star is born,’” Ms. Soares said in a 2002 television interview.Her singing career took off, leading to appearances in movies and on TV. She was one of the few Black Brazilian women to rise to stardom at the time.Her career, however, was soon overshadowed by her fiery love affair with Manuel Francisco dos Santos, known as Garrincha. Their romance began at the 1962 World Cup in Chile, where she was representing Brazil as an entertainer, and where her career might have taken a very different turn: She also met Louis Armstrong, who invited her to tour the United States with him, but she chose instead to follow her heart and return to Brazil with Garrincha. That move would have disastrous repercussions.Harangued by the public and the press, the couple were forced to move to São Paulo and eventually to Italy, where they spent four years. They married in 1966.Ms. Soares was pregnant with their son, Manoel Francisco dos Santos Júnior, when the couple returned to Brazil in 1975. By that time, Garrincha’s alcoholism was becoming a serious problem. He had been driving drunk in 1969 when he had an accident that killed Ms. Soares’s mother. He beat Ms. Soares, who became known for visiting bar owners to implore them not to serve her husband. But her efforts proved futile; Garrincha died of cirrhosis in 1983.When their son died in a car accident in 1986 at age 9, Ms. Soares was devastated and left Brazil. She spent several years in Los Angeles, trying in vain to launch an international career.She credited the Brazilian singer-songwriter Caetano Veloso with helping her return to music when she was ready to give up, by featuring her on his 1984 album, “Velo.”But her output was spotty throughout the 1980s and ’90s, and it wasn’t until 2002 that she regained her stride, connecting with composers and producers from São Paulo’s samba sujo (“dirty samba”) scene to record the album “Do Cóccix Até o Pescoço” (“From the Tailbone to the Neck”), which was nominated for a Latin Grammy Award.In 2016, her “A Mulher do Fim do Mundo” (“The Woman at the End of the World”) won a Latin Grammy for best Brazilian popular music album.Ms. Soares is survived by her children, Joao Carlos, Gerson, Dilma and Sara, and by numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Her son Dilson died in 2015.She continued to find success with younger audiences in the new century, working tirelessly as she approached 90, exploring musical styles including electronic dance music, punk rock and free jazz, and recording albums that fearlessly addressed social issues.The title of her album “Planeta Fome” (“Planet Hunger”), released in 2019, referred directly to how her career got its start on the radio talent show that would forever change not only her life but the course of Brazilian music. More

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      Vicente Fernández, the King of Machos and Heartbreak

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      The singer’s brand of machismo may have frayed, but for many, he was the ideal of what it means to be hard-working, hard-loving Mexican man.The singer Vicente Fernández was “El Ídolo” and “El Rey” — the idol of Mexico and the king of ranchera music. These lofty titles reinforced his profound cultural influence, which spanned decades and countries far beyond Mexico.Fernández, who died on Sunday at 81, long represented the ideal of the Mexican man, proud of his roots and himself. His music often centered on love and loss, though also with a high degree of confidence and attitude. His iconic rendition of the song “Volver Volver” propelled him to fame, but it’s in another major hit, “Por Tu Maldito Amor,” that his agony and longing are on full display.In 2016, Fernández, known as Chente, recorded “Un Azteca en el Azteca,” a live album featuring some of his biggest hits, at the Estadio Azteca in Mexico City, the largest venue in the country, which holds over 87,000. It was billed as his farewell concert, and it also turned out to be the last before he experienced a series of health problems.During his performance of “Por Tu Maldito Amor” (“Because of Your Damn Love”), the sea of fans sing the chorus back to him.Por tu maldito amorNo puedo terminar con tantas penasQuisiera reventarme hasta las venasPor tu maldito amorIt’s become a musical standard at any special occasion hosted by someone of Mexican descent — everyone knows the lyrics. The night doesn’t begin to end until someone starts pouring tequila, plays this song, and belts out a grito in their best Chente voice — operatic and soaring with a tinge of melancholy.Despite the subject matter of his music, it was always tempered by his manly persona — he dressed in full charro regalia, took swigs from fans’ bottles and performed atop his horses. Fernández’s brand was this: a brawny, mustachioed man gallantly fighting for the woman he loves.And his persona was not unlike the idols that preceded him, Pedro Infante and Jorge Negrete, Mexico’s earliest ranchera stars who rose to fame in the 1930s with their interpretations of love songs. And like them, he parlayed his music career into acting roles. Fernández starred in more than 30 films with titles like “El Macho” and “Todo Un Hombre,” in which he plays hard-living rancheros who romance beautiful women.To be sure, after so many decades of influence, Fernández and his work will remain beloved. His music will endure in the Mexican songbook. But his brand of machismo has frayed — at least for a younger generation less interested in a narrow view of what it means to be a man.In 2019, Fernández gave an interview to “De Primera Mano,” a Mexican entertainment news show, where he described receiving a cancer diagnosis in 2012 after doctors found a tumor on his liver. He said they suggested he get a liver transplant, which he rejected, saying: “I’m not going to sleep next to my woman with the organ of another man, not knowing if he was a homosexual or a drug addict.”There was an outcry on social media over the homophobic remarks, and even his son, Vicente Fernández Jr., tried to walk back his father’s interview, asserting that his father’s music was for everyone.Regardless of Fernández’s views on sexuality — though they seem to be pretty apparent — Vicente Jr. might be right. After decades in the spotlight, Chente’s music no longer belongs just to him — it belongs to the people. His musical influence extends far beyond Mexico, permeating much of Latin America and the United States. Fernández’s popularity hasn’t waned, as demonstrated by the memorials and outpouring of condolences on Sunday, ranging from the likes of President Biden to that other “king,” the country singer George Strait.Fernández wasn’t one to shy away from politics. In Mexico, he was a known supporter of the Institutional Revolutionary Party, which long held power in the country. And his influence extended into U.S. politics. He performed at the 2000 Republican National Convention, where George W. Bush secured the nomination. But more recently he supported Democratic candidates in the U.S., even writing a corrido for Hillary Clinton during her 2016 presidential run.Though he is emblematic of a type of dated machismo, many people will still choose to listen to his music and belt out his songs at karaoke or at a cousin’s wedding. Perhaps another one of his memorable songs, “El Rey,” explains this dichotomy.You might say you never loved meBut you will be very sadAnd that’s why you will have to stayWith money and without moneyI always do what I wantAnd my word is the lawI don’t have a throne nor a queenNor anyone who understands meBut I’m still the kingYou probably don’t remember the first time you heard one of his songs because they were always a part of the soundscape, imprinted in your mind. His music is imbued in the fabric of American Latino culture, much like in the rest of Latin America. More

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      Vicente Fernández, ‘El Rey’ of Mexican Ranchera Music, Is Dead at 81

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      A beloved Mexican singer, Mr. Fernández was known for his powerful operatic range and marathon performances, delivered in a signature charro outfit and intricately embroidered sombrero.Vicente Fernández, the powerful tenor whose songs of love, loss and patriotism inspired by life in rural Mexico endeared him to generations of fans as “El Rey,” the king of traditional ranchera music, died on Sunday morning. He was 81.His death was announced in a post on his official Instagram account, which did not give a cause or say where he died. He had been hospitalized for months after a spinal injury he sustained in August, according to previous posts from the account.Accompanied by his mariachi band, Mr. Fernández brought ranchera music, which emerged from the ranches of Mexico in the 19th century, to the rest of Latin America and beyond. In his signature charro outfit and intricately embroidered sombrero, a celebration of the genre’s countryside origins, he performed at some of the largest venues in the world.He recorded dozens of albums and hundreds of songs over a career that spanned six decades. His enduring popularity was reflected in a series of industry accolades, including a place in the Billboard Latin Music Hall of Fame, a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, three Grammy Awards and eight Latin Grammy Awards. He sold tens of millions of copies of his albums and starred in dozens of movies.He was known for giving epic, hourslong concerts, communing directly with his fans and taking swigs from bottles of alcohol that were offered to him. Known fondly as “Chente,” he would tell his audiences that “as long as you keep applauding, your ‘Chente’ won’t stop singing.”Reviewing a 1995 performance at Radio City Music Hall for The New York Times, Jon Pareles wrote that Mr. Fernández “sang with operatic power and melodrama,” flexing his “ardent tenor” to “prodigious crescendos and a vibrato that could register on the Richter scale.”He continued to give marathon performances well into his 70s. At a 2008 concert at Madison Square Garden, Mr. Fernández held court for three hours. A lingering note, delivered in his “lively, if slightly weathered tenor,” could render the audience silent, Jon Caramanica wrote in his review in The Times.Vicente Fernández was born on Feb. 17, 1940, in Huentitán El Alto, in the state of Jalisco in western central Mexico. His father, Ramón Fernández, was a rancher and his mother, Paula Gómez de Fernández, stayed at home to raise their son.He grew up watching matinee movies featuring the Mexican ranchera singer Pedro Infante, an early influence. When he was 8, he received his first guitar and began studying folk music. He left school in the fifth grade and later moved with his family to Tijuana after their cattle business collapsed. He told The Los Angeles Times in 1999 that he took whatever work he could, laying bricks and shining shoes, and even washing dishes.“I’ve always said I got to where I am not by being a great singer, but by being stubborn, by being tenacious, by being pigheaded,” Mr. Fernández said. He gravitated to a public square in Guadalajara called Mariachi Plaza, where he performed for tips, he told The Los Angeles Times. His career took off after he won a competition called La Calandria Musical when he was 19, he said in a 2010 interview with KENS 5 of San Antonio. He moved to Mexico City where he sang at a restaurant and at weddings, and unsuccessfully pitched himself to local record labels.The labels came calling soon after the death in 1966 of Javier Solís, one of the most popular Mexican singers who specialized in bolero and ranchera music. Mr. Fernández then recorded his first albums, including hits like “Volver, Volver,” which elevated him to a level of fame that he had never envisioned, he told KENS 5. Other hits, including “El Rey” and “Lástima que seas ajena,” would follow.“When I started my career, I always had the confidence that I would one day make it, but I never imagined that I would reach the heights at which the public has placed me,” Mr. Fernández said.His public statements occasionally got him into trouble in his later years, such as when he said in a 2019 interview that he had refused a liver transplant because he feared that the donated organ might have come from a gay person or a drug addict. Earlier this year, he apologized after he was seen in a video touching a female fan’s breast without her consent while they posed for a photo.Mr. Fernández married María del Refugio Abarca Villaseñor in 1963. She survives him, as do the couple’s children, Vicente, Gerardo, Alejandra and Alejandro, a Grammy-nominated ranchera performer.Asked if a routine or exercise was a key to his longevity as a performer, Mr. Fernández told KENS that he walked every day for an hour and rode horses when he was home on his ranch. But when he was on tour, he said, “I don’t leave the hotels.”“Still, that keeps me healthy,” he said. “My voice is well rested. When I hear the public’s applause, I don’t know where the voice comes from, but it does for three hours. You’ll have to ask God to find out how he blesses me every time.” More