Party Pooper
“Ey, ella no quiere una flor, solo quiere que no la marchiten
Que cuando compre pan, no le piten
Que no le pregunten qué hizo ayer
Y a un futuro lindo le inviten
Que le den respeto y nunca se lo quiten”
Andrea, Bad Bunny
English Translation:
Ayy, she doesn't want a flower, just to not wither
To not get beeped at when she goes out to buy bread
To not be asked what she did yesterday
And to be invited to have a nice future
To be given respect and for it to never be taken away
In english it really doesn’t hit right. But I put it there so the english speaking world knows what I’m talking about.
There’s so much to unpack here in these 5 verses. I’m writing about this because it’s a section of a song that is so close to bringing me to tears sometimes (you know that’s how deep trauma runs). It addresses broken promises, bodily control, crushed hope, living in a state where you don't know what’s safe and not safe.
Unconditional access to body and mind regardless of mistreatment.
I’m not sure what I’m saying about this other than “it sucks”. Sometimes you have those days, where wallowing in a difficult past is the only thing you can do. Tomorrow will be an easier day. But now: now it’s just a grieving of a younger person who just wanted to see the best in everyone.
I’ll move on however. To another Bad Bunny lyric. I disliked him for a long time. I still think he’s super douchey, but. I can’t ignore how some of his artistic choices have changed the narrative in the ultra misogyny of what more mainstream reggaeton has looked like.
“Yo no me quiero ir de aqui…
Que se vayan ellos
Que se vayan ellos…
Lo que me pertenece a mi
Se lo quedan ellos
Que se vayan ellos”
El Apagon, Bad Bunny
English Translation:
I don’t want to leave here…
They should leave
They should leave…
What belongs to me
They keep
They should leave
What the white western world deems as sexy, palatable, an attractive “other”, is robbed, brought into the mainstream, where it becomes diluted. Culture loses its spirit. A white-washed tasteless version of who a land is, who a people are.
In relation to art-making. Sometimes it constantly feels like you’re screaming your story over and over again, for a certain (white) people to understand a small glimpse of what it means.
I know its alot to expect someone without lived experience to get it. But it’s still tiring.
Performing. Masking. Tiring.
I have a hope though. That one day, we won’t have to go through them to achieve our dreams as artists. That we won’t have to fight through a system based on western ideals of what “achievement” looks like. That performance of our pains and hurts won’t be needed. That the selling of our “exotic” cultures isn’t required to get cash to make beautiful things.
Yo no me quiero ir de aqui
Que se vayan ellos
I don’t want to leave, I want that whole system to leave.