Bad Bunny’s sixth album “DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS,” which translates to “I should have taken more photos,” deserves more than an album review. The cultural context of an electoral year in Puerto Rico with historical results and repeated activism, an artistic residency with tickets sold for only the residents of the island and a distinct folklore music album from the Bad Bunny, the King of Reggaeton, is not something I can explain in 5,000 characters in English.
I don’t write this as an argument to add this album to your playlist. Most likely, the album will not have audiences dancing like Bad Bunny’s top hits like “I Like It” with Cardi B and J Balvin or “Tití Me Preguntó” in 2022. Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio, Bad Bunny’s birth name, is fine if his listeners outside of Latino América do not get it. In fact, he avoids explaining translations or lyrics and adding subtitles to his music. The beautiful part is that it is still one of the most listened-to albums at the moment. Even so, it didn’t qualify for a Grammy. But I think Bad Bunny would happily sing to that — “I dooooon’t caaaare.”
The teasers for the album dropped in early December, during those weeks before Christmas when you’re still catching up with hometown friends and buying last-minute Christmas gifts. Last year, Bad Bunny’s surprise drop “Nadie Sabe Lo Que Va a Pasar Mañana” was well-reviewed for its critique of the ghosts and lows of fame — yet for people who had expected a follow-up to the cultural movement that was “Un Verano Sin Tí,” it felt repetitive, brashly made, and commercial. The album lacked the fierce national identity that Bad Bunny had begun to represent and fight for in his albums. When “EL CLúB” — the first pre-release single — was released, I felt the same fear as when I saw the album — another house, beeping beat about crying for your ex at the club — a Bad Bunny classic. All in all, lackluster and lacking.
And then, “PIToRRO DE COCO” was released the day after Christmas and, in my house, there was an eerie quiet and confusion.
Was that Puerto Rican folk music? From the King of Reggaeton? From Kendall Jenner’s ex-boyfriend?
That is when we all realized that this was not a Bad Bunny album, but a Benito Antonio Martínez Ocacio album, and it was innately, aggressively proud of being Puerto Rican.
The album consists of 14 “bombas.” What surprised everybody was the insertion of salsa, bomba and plena, all music native to the island. Puerto Rican youngsters, most of whom came from the Escuela Libre de Música from Puerto Rico, led the production of the salsa beats of the album. Bad Bunny knew that to make an album of Puerto Rico, he needed to return to Puerto Rico and not depend on the producers he knew from the United States. Collaborations also seemed to flourish, including artists that I sure hope to see on the big stages this year — Chuwi, RaiNao and Los Pleneros de la Cresta.
The argument in Puerto Rico when it comes to Bad Bunny is that he’s not a musician, but a performer who assimilated to his popularity in the United States. Puerto Rico is a land of extensive musical history. Salsa, plena and bomba — and reggaeton — would go on to influence contemporary music around the globe. Bad Bunny singing about making the most money and getting the most awards to a buzzing bass was not something the musical purists wanted to have the island represented by. At the end of the day, representing the Colony within the United States sucks.
Yet, Bad Bunny recognizes that his “new” is good, because he was raised by the “old,” which he sings in “LA MuDANZA.” He knows that his lyrics, his narrative and his beats come from the extensive history of salsa, bomba, plena and música jibara that he grew up in.
The album seems to be filled with these little gifts that even made my grandmother’s eyebrows shoot up. “Un verano en Nueva York,” by El Gran Combo de Puerto Rico, is sampled on the intro of the album, buzzing with onomatopoeia, echos and amazing bass. Bad Bunny added a record from Chuito el de Bayamón into the production from El Instituto de Cultura’s archives. Jacobo Morales, the only Puerto Rican director to be nominated for an Oscar in Foreign Film for “Lo que le pasó a Santiago,” was the main character of the short film created for the album.
The Spotify version features stop-motion from the Puerto Rican Acho Studio, whom you might know from Rick and Morty’s bumper short with Ricky Salcedo and Big Mouth’s special stop-motion episode. I know them from my comfort song, Así de Grandes Son las Ideas, which tells the story of Concho, the endemic frog from Puerto Rico that found itself on the brink of extinction. Concho captures the Puerto Rican likeness via daily routines that are not meant to exotify a character but capture a daily ritual of survival. Survival means not just complaining about a blackout on New Year’s Eve, but the assertion of knowing no colonization or displacement can truly remove one emotionally from the Island.
What makes the album so perfect is the fictional romance Bad Bunny has built with Puerto Rico with this album. The island — the one tourists know, the one natives know, the one from the past and the possible one from the future — is a mythical lover, one that seems to twist and change shape with every line Bad Bunny writes. It’s an encounter that will end, but will live forever in the pictures that I took before leaving the Island.