“This AI will heat up any club”: Reggaetón and the Rise of the Cyborg Genre
This series listens to the political, gendered, queer(ed), racial engagements and class entanglements involved in proclaiming out loud: La-TIN-x. ChI-ca-NA. La-TI-ne. ChI-ca-n-@. Xi-can-x. Funded by an Andrew W. Mellon Foundation as part of the Crossing Latinidades Humanities Research Initiative, the Latinx Sound Cultures Studies Working Group critically considers the role of sound and listening in our formation as political subjects. Through both a comparative and cross-regional lens, we invite Latinx Sound Scholars to join us as we dialogue about our place within the larger fields of Chicanx/Latinx Studies and Sound Studies. We are delighted to publish our initial musings with Sounding Out!, a forum that has long prioritized sound from a queered, racial, working-class and “always-from-below” epistemological standpoint. —Ed. Dolores Inés Casillas
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Busco la colaboración universal donde todos los Benitos puedan llegar a ser Bad Bunny. –FlowGPT, TikTok
In November of 2023, the reggaetón song “DEMO #5: NostalgIA” went viral on various digital platforms, particularly TikTok. The track, posted by user FlowGPT, makes use of artificial intelligence (Inteligencia Artificial) to imitate the voices of Justin Bieber, Bad Bunny, and Daddy Yankee. The song begins with a melody reminiscent of Justin Bieber’s 2015 pop hit “Sorry.” Soon, reggaetón’s characteristic boom-ch-boom-chick drumbeat drops, and the voices of the three artists come together to form a carefully crafted, unprecedented crossover.
Bad Bunny’s catchy verse “sal que te paso a buscar” quickly inundated TikTok feeds as users began to post videos of themselves dancing or lip-syncing to the song. The song was not only very good but it also successfully replicated these artists– their voices, their style, their vibe. Soon, the song exited the bounds of the digital and began to be played in clubs across Latin America, marking a thought-provoking novelty in the usual repertoire of reggaetón hits. In line with the current anxieties around generative AI, the song quickly generated public controversy. Only a few weeks after its release, ‘nostalgIA’ was taken down from most digital platforms.
The mind behind FlowGPT is Chilean producer Maury Senpai, who in a series of TikTok responses explained his mission of creative democratization in a genre that has been historically exclusive of certain creators. In one video, FlowGPT encourages listeners to contemplate the potential of this “algorithm” to allow songs by lesser-known artists and producers to reach the ears of many listeners, by replicating the voices of well-known singers. Maury Senpai’s production process involved lyric writing, extensive study of the singers’ vocals, and the Kits.ai tool.
Therefore, contrary to FlowGPT’s robotic brand, ‘nostalgIA’ was the product of careful collaboration between human and machine– or, what Ross Cole calls “cyborg creativity.” This hybridization enmeshes the artist and the listener, allowing diverse creators their creative desires. Cyborg creativity, of course, is not an inherent result of GenAI’s advent. Instead, I argue that reggaetón has long been embedded in a tradition of musical imitation and a deep reliance on technological tools, which in turn challenges popular concerns about machine-human artistic collaboration.
Many creators worry that GenAI will co-opt a practice that for a long time has been regarded as strictly human. GenAI’s reliance on pre-existing data threatens to hide the labor of artists who contributed to the model’s output. We may also add the inherent biases present in training data. Pasquinelli and Joler propose that the question “Can AI be creative?” be reformulated as “Is machine learning able to create works that are not imitations of the past?” Machine learning models detect patterns and styles in training data and then generate “random improvisation” within this data. Therefore, GenAI tools are not autonomous creative actors but often operate with generous human intervention that trains, monitors, and disseminates the products of these models.
The inability to define GenAI tools as inherently creative on their own does not mean they can’t be valuable for artists seeking to experiment in their work. Hearkening back to Donna Haraway’s concept of the cyborg, Ross Cole argues that
Such [AI] music is in fact a species of hybrid creativity predicated on the enmeshing of people and computers (…) We might, then, begin to see AI not as a threat to subjective expression, but another facet of music’s inherent sociality.
Many authors agree that unoriginal content—works that are essentially reshufflings of existing material—cannot be considered legitimate art. However, an examination of the history of the reggaetón genre invites us to question this idea. In “From Música Negra to Reggaetón Latino,” Wayne Marshall explains how the genre emerged from simultaneous and mutually-reinforcing processes in Panamá, Puerto Rico, and New York, where artists brought together elements of dancehall, reggae, and American hip hop. Towards the turn of the millennium, the genre’s incorporation of diverse musical elements and the availability of digital tools for production favored its commercialization across Latin America and the United States.
The imitation of previous artists has been embedded in the fabric of reggaetón from a very early stage. Some of the earliest examples of reggaetón were in fact Spanish lyrics placed over Jamaican dancehall riddims— instrumental tracks with characteristic melodies. When Spanish-speaking artists began to draw from dancehall, they used these same riddims in their songs, and continue to do so today. A notable example of this pattern is the Bam Bam riddim, which is famously used in the song “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers (1992).
This riddim made its way into several reggaetón hits, such as “El Taxi” by Osmani García, Pitbull, and Sensato (2015).
We may also observe reggaetón’s tradition of imitation in frequent references to “old school” artists by the “new school,” through beat sampling, remixes, and features. We see this in Karol G’s recent hit “GATÚBELA,” where she collaborates with Maldy, former member of the iconic Plan B duo.
Reggaetón’s deeply rooted tradition of “tribute-paying” also ties into its differentiation from other genres. As the genre grew in commercial value, perhaps to avoid copyright issues, producers cut down on their direct references to dancehall and instead favored synthesized backings. Marshall quotes DJ El Niño in saying that around the mid-90s, people began to use the term reggaetón to refer to “original beats” that did not solely rely on riddims but also employed synthesizer and sequencer software. In particular, the program Fruity Loops, initially launched in 1997, with “preset” sounds and effects provided producers with a wider set of possibilities for sonic innovation in the genre.
The influence of technology on music does not stop at its production but also seeps into its socialization. Today, listeners increasingly engage with music through AI-generated content. Ironically, following the release of Bad Bunny’s latest album, listeners expressed their discontent through AI-generated memes of his voice. One of the most viral ones consisted of Bad Bunny’s voice singing “en el McDonald’s no venden donas.”
The clip, originally sung by user Don Pollo, was modified using AI to sound like Bad Bunny, and then combined with reggaetón beats and the Bam Bam riddim. Many users referred to this sound as a representation of the light-heartedness they saw lacking in the artist’s new album. While Un Verano Sin Ti (2022) stood out as an upbeat summer album that addressed social issues such as U.S. imperialism and machismo, Nadie Sabe lo que va a Pasar Mañana (2023) consisted mostly of tiraderas or disses against other artists and left some listeners disappointed. In a 2018 post for SO!, Michael S. O’Brien speaks of this sonic meme phenomenon, where a sound and its repetition come to encapsulate collective discontent.
Another notorious case of AI-generated covers targets recent phenomenon Young Miko. As one of the first openly queer artists to break into the urban Latin mainstream, Young Miko filled a long-standing gap in the genre—the need for lyrics sung by a woman to another woman. Her distinctive voice has also been used in viral AI covers of songs such as “La Jeepeta,” and “LALA,” originally sung by male artists. To map Young Miko’s voice over reggaetón songs that advance hypermasculinity– through either a love for Jeeps or not-so-subtle oral sex– represents a creative reclamation of desire where the agent is no longer a man, but a woman. Jay Jolles writes of TikTok’s modifications to music production, namely the prioritization of viral success. The case of AI-generated reggaetón covers demonstrates how catchy reinterpretations of an artist’s work can offer listeners a chance to influence the music they enjoy, allowing them to shape it to their own tastes.
Examining the history of musical imitation and digital innovation in reggaetón expands the bounds of artistry as defined by GenAI theorists. In the conventions of the TikTok platform, listeners have found a way to participate in the artistry of imitation that has long defined the genre. The case of FlowGPT, along with the overwhelmingly positive reception of “nostalgIA,” point towards a future where the boundaries between the listener and the artist are blurred, and where technology and digital spaces are the platforms that allow for an enhanced cyborg creativity to take place.
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Featured Image: Screenshot from ““en el McDonald’s no venden donas.” Taken by SO!
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Laurisa Sastoque is a Colombian scholar of digital humanities, history, and storytelling. She works as a Digital Preservation Training Officer at the University of Southampton, where she collaborates with the Digital Humanities Team to promote best practices in digital preservation across Galleries/Gardens, Libraries, Archives, and Museums (GLAM), and other sectors. She completed an MPhil in Digital Humanities from the University of Cambridge as a Gates Cambridge scholar. She holds a B.A. in History, Creative Writing, and Data Science (Minor) from Northwestern University.
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Ronca Realness: Voices that Sound the Sucia Body—Cloe Gentile Reyes
Echoes in Transit: Loudly Waiting at the Paso del Norte Border Region—José Manuel Flores & Dolores Inés Casillas
Experiments in Agent-based Sonic Composition—Andreas Pape
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The Braids, The Bars, and the Blackness: Ruminations on Hip Hop’s World War III – Drake versus Kendrick (Part Two)
A Conversation by Todd Craig and LeBrandon Smith
Happy Hip Hop History Month! Last week writer, educator and DJ Todd Craig and cultural curator and social impact leader LeBrandon Smith kicked off their three part series parsing out this past spring’s beef between Kendrick Lamar and Drake, Hip Hop history in the making. We left off in the wake of Drake’s rapid-fire releases from April 19th, 2024, the one-two punch of Drake’s “Push Ups” and “Taylor Made Freestyle.” Today, Craig and Smith pick up their conversation where Kendrick did, releasing “Euphoria” and “6:16 in LA” after eleven days of anticipation. Since the dust has settled a bit between K-Dot and OVO, it’s the perfect time for these intergenerational Hip Hop heads to tap in and sort out what this epic beef really meant for the artists, the sound, and most importantly, the culture. School is IN, yall! If you want to catch up with part one, click here.
What is it? The braids?–Kendrick Lamar, “Euphoria”
After a much-anticipated wait, Kendrick dropped “Euphoria.” It not only stopped Hip Hop culture in its tracks, but it allowed all spectators to realize this was gearing up to be an epic battle. The song starts with the backwards Richard Pryor sample from the iconic film The Wiz. For those unfamiliar, The Wiz is a film adaptation of The Wizard of Oz featuring an all-Black star-studded cast, including Diana Ross and Michael Jackson. Richard Pryor played the role of the Wizard. When the characters realize the Wizard is a fraud, he says, “Everything they say about me is true”; this is the sample Kendrick uses, grounding himself in 1970s Black culture and situating where he plans to go in his writing.
There are numerous layers that Kendrick builds into “Euphoria” – which gets back to Drake’s warning of “you better have a motherfuckin’ quintuple entendre on that shit.” The two specific lines that resonate for how K.Dot’s attack plan will unfold come at the beginning and the middle of the song. The choice of his introductory lines are a serious forewarning for Drake: “Know you a master manipulator and habitual liar too/ But don’t tell no lie about me and I won’t tell truths ’bout you.” Kendrick references the idea of a “friendly fade” but sounds firm in this warning.
The second line to resonate in our listening was “‘Back to Back’ I like that record/ I’ma git back to that for the record.” This bar was an intriguing foreshadowing of not only how Dot planned to approach the battle, but it also references the fact that Kendrick has studied Drake’s battles, thus he is prepared for this moment. It’s critical to note in Drake’s last battle with lyrical tactician Terrance Thorton aka Pusha T in 2018 (which Kendrick references in “Euphoria”), he mentioned Pusha T’s wife – this led to Pusha T introducing the world to Adonis, Drake’s then-infant child which he most definitely had NOT introduced to the world. As Kendrick runs through this 6:24 minute song, his indictments of Drake’s cultural voyeurism and appropriation are crystal clear, but Kendrick doubles down on this idea by saying: “It’s not just me, I’m what the culture’s feeling.” This is the start of Kendrick framing the argument of how Drake is exploiting Black American culture from the safety of the Embassy, his Canadian compound located in a different country.
LeBrandon highlighted a few additional quotes while also generating a series of questions. When he heard, “I even hate when you say the word ‘nigga’ but that’s just me, I guess/ some shit just cringeworthy it ain’t even gotta be deep, I guess,” it evoked the feeling of not having to justify why the usage of the word “nigga” is okay for Black people. While LeBrandon acknowledges his grandparents and parents may not agree with him, he feels its usage is not worthy of a fight unless used by a non-Black person; it’s widely accepted as part of the vernacular of Black people in Hip Hop culture. So to question Drake’s usage of the word and strip him of this privilege is a demoralizing and thought-provoking action. A second aspect of these bars considers hater-ation. Sometimes hate is irrational and without cause and sometimes that’s simply good enough! This moment also sparked questions for LeBrandon that we wanted to include:
Maybe it’s overstating the impact of the battle but will the remainder of Drake’s career be under a microscope?
Will Hip Hop heads and casuals now analyze and likely scrutinize Drake’s every move?
Another moment we both agreed on was an additional Kendrick quote LeBrandon highlighted: “What is it? The braids?” Hair, hair, hair: a fixture in these conversations as well as a clue into where this battle gets debated…the barbershop and even the hair salon. Drake’s masculinity, racial and cultural authenticity has always been sensitive; let us never forget Pusha T’s “Story of Adidon”: a song that questioned Drake’s character and even his hair, released with cover art displaying Drake in Blackface with Jazz hands. Drake’s perceived “entanglement” with Black American culture has always been warm, and felt like a younger cousin following their big cousin. Drake was younger then and Pusha T was written off by some as a bully: an old Hip Hop head yelling at the clouds.
But recently, Drake’s actions began to feel like a mockery, or even a caricature (like a “master manipulator”). How much of this behavior is Drake trying on costumes, using real hairstyles and real life experiences of Black folks to portray a life he hasn’t lived or interacted with? Fashion and swag regionalism has become lost in the internet age, which makes the concerns about Drake’s “costumes” jarring. And despite one of Hip Hop’s keys being the ability to flex individuality, Hip Hop has always been a conduit of style (think throwback jerseys and other fashion cues). So why does Drake’s recent fascination with braids and other things raise eyebrows? Are his braids too tight? Maybe the bobbles and barrettes are giving young Black girl vibes too much? Only time will tell…
LeBrandon also tapped into the Kendrick line, “notice I said we, it’s not just me, I’m what the culture’s feeling.” How many behind-closed-doors conversations were had about the current state of Drake? Naturally, we’ve all had them, as he’s the second biggest artist in the world. Drake is a brand, a corporate behemoth, and one of Universal Music Group’s greatest interests. But is he a cultural thief? Another corporate behemoth once said “dark knight feeling, die and be a hero/ or live long enough to see yourself become a villain” (Carter). Is Drake becoming a villain or are these valid concerns and questions Kendrick has raised?
Hip Hop has existed for 50+ years now – but cultural moments and movements can die off, so can we just dismiss some of the thoughts this battle has provoked? Is it the responsibility of those at the forefront of the artform to behave a certain way? Or does innovation and variety–even at its silliest– keep Hip Hop’s spirit alive? Kendrick’s ability to stay off the grid, then “pop out and show niggas” is unparalleled. The way his city and coast showed up for him also has to be acknowledged in a time when access to rappers’ lives is oversaturated online. The line “I’m what the culture’s feeling” is interesting because it informs us that Kendrick is paying attention and considering the artform, even when we can’t see it with his presence in public or on social media.
Kendrick quickly followed up with “6:16 in LA,” and the layering throughout each song only gets impressively more intricate. For example, the length of the song refers back to the date the TV show “Euphoria” was released (Drake is credited as executive producer on the show). The entire first section is incredible, especially as Kendrick spits “Like Raphael, I can heal and give you art,” which speaks to the duality Kendrick uses to approach this battle.
It was also one of Todd’s favorite moments of the “Pop Out” show. While multiple online analyses say Kendrick is personifying Drake, the way in which he’s rhyming is undeniable. Furthermore, the Kendrick line telling Drake “every dog gotta have his day/ now live in your purpose” is quite condemning, especially alongside the concept of Drake being a voyeur of Black American Hip Hop culture. Couple this sentiment with Sounwave and Taylor Swift music collaborator Jack Antonoff producing the beat for the song that uses a sample from Al Green’s “What a Wonderful Thing Love Is” – a song that features Drake’s uncle (Mabon “Teenie” Hodges) on guitar – shows just how cerebral Kendrick has gotten with his sonic offerings. This song also presents a different tempo: a more soulful, Boom-Bap-style that highlights Kendrick’s flow and cadence, diverging from “Euphoria.”
We both agreed Kendrick may not enjoy tearing down another artist. LeBrandon highlights the lines, “Who am I if I don’t go to war.” This line, its surrounding bars, the tone, and delivery speak to the conflict Kendrick feels about the ensuing lyrical violence. It’s incredible that such conflict is being considered by Kendrick during a heated battle–it requires us to cherish this level of consideration and introspection. This line also feels layered because of Kendrick’s roots, and the enduring Hip Hop element of battling: “if I’m called out,” Kendrick raps, “who am I if I don’t answer that call?”
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Todd and LeBrandon’s Hip Hop History Month play-by-play concludes on November 25th!
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Our Icon for this series is a mash up of “Kendrick Lamar (Sziget Festival 2018)” taken by Flickr User Peter Ohnacker (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0) and “Drake, Telenor Arena 2017” taken by Flickr User Kim Erlandsen, NRK P3 (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
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Todd Craig (he/him) is a writer, educator and DJ whose career meshes his love of writing, teaching and music. His research inhabits the intersection of writing and rhetoric, sound studies and Hip Hop studies. He is the author of “K for the Way”: DJ Rhetoric and Literacy for 21st Century Writing Studies (Utah State University Press) which examines the Hip Hop DJ as twenty-first century new media reader, writer, and creator of the discursive elements of DJ rhetoric and literacy. Craig’s publications include the multimodal novel tor’cha (pronounced “torture”), and essays in various edited collections and scholarly journals including The Bloomsbury Handbook of Hip Hop Pedagogy, Amplifying Soundwriting, Methods and Methodologies for Research in Digital Writing and Rhetoric, Fiction International, Radical Teacher, Modern Language Studies, Changing English, Kairos, Composition Studies and Sounding Out! Dr. Craig teaches courses on writing, rhetoric, African American and Hip Hop Studies, and is the co-host of the podcast Stuck off the Realness with multi-platinum recording artist Havoc of Mobb Deep. Presently, Craig is an Associate Professor of African American Studies at New York City College of Technology and English at the CUNY Graduate Center.
LeBrandon Smith (he/him) is a cultural curator and social impact leader born and raised in Brooklyn and Queens, respectively. Coming from New York City, his efforts to bridge gaps, and build community have been central to his work, but most notably his passion for music has fueled his career. His programming has been seen throughout the Metropolitan area, including historical venues like Carnegie Hall, The Museum of the City of NY (MCNY) and Brooklyn Public Library.
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REWIND!…If you liked this post, you may also dig:
“Heavy Airplay, All Day with No Chorus”: Classroom Sonic Consciousness in the Playlist Project—Todd Craig
SO! Reads: “K for the Way”: DJ Rhetoric and Literacy for 21st Century Writing Studies—DeVaughn (Dev) Harris
Deep Listening as Philogynoir: Playlists, Black Girl Idiom, and Love–Shakira Holt
“The (Magic) Upper Room: Sonic Pleasure Politics in Southern Hip Hop“–Regina Bradley
“‘I’m on my New York s**t’: Jean Grae’s Sonic Claims on the City”––Liana Silva
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