Oh Shit Here We Go Again Urban

Urban corridos were bound to happen. Mexican and Black hip-hop culture live side by side in many Los Angeles neighborhoods, although sometimes our music gets forth amend than we do.

In South Key, which I phone call home, the pounding bass from a passing machine can feel like a mini earthquake. Walking down Crenshaw Boulevard, information technology is nigh certain you lot will hear a Nipsey Hussle rap coming from 1 fashion and a Fuerza Regida corrido the other. But hearing a legit fusion of the two genres in the same rail—something that feels natural to young Mexican Americans—surprises others and is scorned by older generations.

Growing upwardly, I often heard our experiences reflected in hip-hop's lyrics and became heavily influenced past rappers like Tupac, Water ice Cube, Snoop Dogg, Due north.West.A, Kendrick Lamar, and Nipsey Hussle. As a teenager in the 2010s, I began following rising artists similar Gerardo Ortiz and Regulo Caro who were pivotal to my generation's involvement with traditional Mexican ballads, or corridos. For ii centuries, these songs take acted nigh as news reports, as their lyrics comprehend historical and community events, sometimes to subversive consequence. At today's warehouse parties, from our makeshift stages, virtually dark except for sets of strobe lights, playlists incorporate both hip-hop and corridos. To some, these genres audio completely different, simply if you're young and grew up in South Central, there's a good risk they both speak to you.

Many of our families migrated from Mexico in the 1990s. For people like me, our identities have always been contested. At home, I spoke the colloquial Castilian my family unit taught me from the southern region of Jalisco. At school and with my older cousins, I spoke English and picked upward the slang of my peers. Our family carne asadas were filled with the smell of grilling meat, the spiciness of my mom's famous pico de gallo, fresh beans out of the pot, and the sounds of accordions, guitars, and strong bass lines of traditionalcorridos performed by Antonio Aguilar, Los Tigres del Norte, and Chalino Sanchez coming out of my uncle's boom box.

As my cousins grew older, hip-hop made its way to my ears. Nosotros rocked retro Jordans and hung up SLAM magazine posters featuring Kobe Bryant, Allen Iverson, and a rookie named LeBron James. Our gatherings culminated in a game of basketball. One day, subsequently our scrimmages in the street, we were playing video games in my cousin'south bedroom. He put on 2Pac's "Striking 'Em Upwards." The way Pac rapped scared me at first, but and so I felt like I could do anything, that I was the toughest 1 in the room.

In the backyard, my parents and grandparents would sing corridos, loudly plenty that it filtered into the house where we children congregated. Through those songs, I understood the adult earth, and how my elders were often homesick. Those songs of migration and loved ones left behind made them feel closer to Jalisco and reminded me of what my family endured to alive in the United States.

Take "La Jaula de Oro" by Los Tigres del Norte as an example:

Aquí estoy establecido
En los Estados Unidos
Diez años pasaron ya
En que cruce de mojado
Papeles no he arreglado
Sigo siendo un ilegal
Tengo mi esposa y mis hijos
Que me los traje muy chicos
Y se han olvidado ya
De mi México querido
Del que yo nunca me olvido
Y no puedo regresar
De que me sirve el dinero
Si estoy como prisionero
Dentro de esta gran nación
Cuando me acuerdo hasta lloro
Aunque la jaula ocean de oro
No deja de ser prisión

Here I am established
In the United States
10 years have now passed by
In which I crossed equally a wetback
I however oasis't fixed my papers
I am notwithstanding an illegal
I take my wife and my children
Which I brought very young
And they have now forgotten
Of my beloved Mexico
Of which I will never forget
And I cannot go back
What good is all the money
If I am like a prisoner
Inside of this corking nation?
When I remember I cry
Although the cage is golden
Information technology doesn't terminate being a prison.

In middle school, I followed the careers of corrido singers Regulo Caro and Gerardo Ortiz. Both had strong ties to the northern states of Sinaloa and Sonora in Mexico. They sang of events in that location, and their lyrics taught me of what my family had sacrificed. Through these songs, I developed an awareness of my identity that left me, an Angeleno, conflicted at a very immature age.

My corrido identity and my hip-hop identity were 2 separate entities which intersected every and so often, but never enough to matter. Kendrick Lamar and 2Pac were in my headphones, followed by Chalino Sanchez and Gerardo Ortiz, but I thought the 2 genres never directly communicated. My homies in loftier schoolhouse were like me: we discussed corrido lyrics as ofttimes as the latest drop from our favorite rapper.

In the summer of 2015, only before my senior year of high school, the biopic flick of Compton rap group Northward.W.A, Direct Outta Compton, hit the theaters. The pic proved extremely influential to street culture in South Central and the surrounding neighborhoods, with the opening lyrics to the title song, courtesy of South Central's very own Ice Cube: "Straight outta Compton, crazy female parent*cker named Ice Cube/ From the gang called Ni**az With Attitudes." You lot saw people swagging in their "Straight Outta [Insert neighborhood here]" hoodies and sweatshirts. Even my high school caught onto the tendency. Virtually anybody wore "Direct Outta Hawkins" sweatshirts in the Vermont-Slauson neighborhood.

In the summer of my second yr of college, I fabricated a visit to my local barbershop. This was where we picked up new music. As nosotros bet on games of pool and waited for our cuts, "Radicamos en South Cardinal" by Fuerza Regida dropped. The vocal starts with a loud and heavy tune played from a tuba followed past an urban have on the requinto, a twelve-string acoustic guitar, and the at present famous line: "Radicamos en Southward Central/ El negocio anda fuerte/ Esta zona controlamos.""Nosotros ride effectually in S Central/ The business is stiff/ We control this zone." Finally, I had heard the name of my neighborhood in a corrido. The song felt like home, similar my hood.

"Radicamos en South Primal" is a direct play on "Straight Outta Compton." Listening closely, we understood what N.Westward.A'southward vocal and the film had meant to the corrido's creation, and the imagery it offered of South Central Artery spoke volumes. Online, fans created cover art for the song incorporating the font and appeal of the Straight Outta Compton billboard. The corrido felt similar it was written for united states of america—all of us.

Los azules lo rodearon
Sabían donde estaba el clavo
Y en la escuelita se aventó united nations buen rato
Ahora lo verán contento
En su Ram por la Central
Bien agusto chicoteado

The blue ones circled him in
They knew where the boom [drugs] would be
And in the little school [prison] he has spent quite some time
Now you'll see him happily
In his Ram on Cardinal [Artery]
Very chill and absurd

This corrido reflected my own community. Information technology spoke of a specific person. But that man, challenged by circumstance, stood in for so many of us who would do whatever it took to feed our families. "Radicamos en South Fundamental" offered me a infinite in corrido culture. The urban regional corrido had emerged, and, for the get-go time, I felt my hip-hop and corrido identities directly intersect.

The artists who produced this music grew up in neighborhoods total of young people similar Due south Central, whether from Santa Ana, Yuba Urban center, San Bernardino. We shared a language of Spanglish and slang: troka (truck), clika (clique), iced out (wearing diamonds), tumbado (dropped, normally in reference to the furnishings of existence under the influence of any substance). Their songs explored themes of expose, violence, courage, and growing upwards in the hood with large dreams. Young corridistas adapted this genre for a youthful L.A. past merging the familiar sounds of countryside guitars and the bajoloche (acoustic bass) slapped to the tempo of hip-hop.

For u.s. to occupy this blended sonic infinite offered a form of resiliency. This is an oft-overlooked space where joy may be cultivated for young people. This music connects united states to our heritage, allowing u.s. to present the sounds that shaped our lives. The result is a cute collage of country hillsides in Mexico, the smell of a forest fire burning on a cold wintertime dark, the hustle of the city, young people filling nighttime clubs to run into their favorite grupos, and the hip-hop nosotros eat on a daily basis.

Suddenly, our stories were worth singing about, and today this brings me confidence. The remix to Natanael Cano'south "Soy El Diablo" points to the resiliency that our people are often historic for. Here, Bad Bunny exclaims:

Esto es pa toda mi raza
America es nuestra casa
Aunque pongan mas alto el muro como quiera se traspasa!

This is for all my people
America is our business firm
Even if they build the wall college, it will still get trespassed!

These new songs remind me of where I'm from, and that the struggles of my parents continue through us.

But today, as I navigate my social media feed, I see the disregard many older Mexican people take for our youthful music. Many attempt to discredit the genre. They merits that our corridos aren't authentic or "existent," that our artists don't sing well. Peradventure our elders practice not fully understand the stories in the songs. At their cadre, corridos exist to inform the community. In the 1910 Mexican Revolution, people learned of important events through corridos. In the same way, urban regional corridos inform the community about the lives of young Mexican Americans.

Isaiah Andalon, a young corridista from northward of downtown in Highland Park, believes that urban regional corridos are an evolution of music.

"Corridos went from a traditional audio to talking near our stories now," he says. "It's this side of the border's stories… Corridos tumbados (urban regional corridos) is Mexican American/Chicano, their version of what they think corridos should be."

Though hardly identical, the street life and civilization of young Mexican Americans and young Blackness Americans is informed by how we interpret our worlds. I wish I could say that our artists sing about positivity all the time, simply many of our artists grew upwardly in the streets, and that comes with stressors which manifest in the music. Nosotros have listened to hip-hop for a long time. The themes run parallel.

This becomes apparent in how both forms address betrayal. In "Niveles," Hijos de Garcia sing:

Siempre tienes que fajar united nations arma como guardaespaldas
Porque hasta tu propia gente puede darte pu ñ aladas
Luego, luego se nota cuando est á n buscando tu espalda
Con la derecha saludan y la izquierda te disparan

Y'all always have to carry a weapon as a babysitter
Because even your ain people desire to betray y'all
Chop-chop you can tell when they're looking for your back
With the right manus they greet you and with the left shoot you lot

In "My Homie," ScHoolboy Q, a South Central native, deals with the expose of i of his life-long childhood friends: "You were my mane/ N***a I wouldn't figure y'all would be on that stand/ Putting my life upward in your hands, pointing your finger like damn!"

While themes of betrayal and the pain resulting from it are rampant in both genres, there are besides instances when artists gloat the forcefulness of our communities. In 2016, equally a response to what many saw as a racist presidential campaign run by Donald Trump, YG and Nipsey Hussle released their protest song "FDT". With the chorus powerfully exclaiming, "F**1000 Donald Trump!" Nipsey Hussle called for the unity of Black and Chocolate-brown people echoing 2Pac's "To Live and Die in L.A." in guild to combat the rhetoric employed by the candidate: "Information technology wouldn't be the USA without Mexicans/ And if information technology's time to team upwards, shit, let's begin/ Black beloved, Brown pride in the sets over again." As a high schoolhouse senior, listening to two of the almost of import faces of hip-hop call in Brown people to fight a common enemy gave me hope that coalitions betwixt Black and Brown people were tangible. The sea of immature Black and Dark-brown faces occupying public space as a form of protest in the music video is also a testament to how I understand and experience South Cardinal.

Mural at Nipsey Hussle Square, Slauson Avenue and Crenshaw Boulevard

Photograph by Bryan Cantero

As corridos tumbados evolve, they sound more and more than like the Los Angeles I know, the words a mix of the Mexican Spanish and English slang I use with my homies. The melodies sound like those of my favorite hip-hop artists, and the corridistas are dressing like the rappers I grew up listening to: designer dress, baseball caps, and retro Jordans. Natanael Cano, 1 of the best-known interpreters ofcorridos tumbados, is often seen wearing the latest Supreme drops and baseball caps. This trend is alien to older generations who are used to cowboy boots and cowboy hats, the norteño clothes worn past traditional corridistas. But as more young Mexican Americans adapt or reinterpret the genre, the influence of Black hip-hop civilization will proceed to shape our civilisation and lifestyle.

At the aforementioned time, I believe it would exist a stretch to say the Black Americans and Mexican Americans understand each other. With the urgency surrounding the Black Lives Matter movement, I think near the responsibility of urban regional corridoculture to challenge anti-Blackness within our non-Blackness Latinx communities. As a community that borrows direct from Black hip-hop culture, we must show up for Black Americans not merely in victory merely in times of hurt and unrest as well.

Oft non-Black Latinx communities downplay how we perpetuate anti-Blackness while also consuming and appropriating Blackness culture. While urban regional corridos do indeed tell Mexican American stories and are a U.S.-United mexican states transnational phenomenon, it is shaped by Black hip-hop civilisation considering we swallow the latter. The long histories of racism and anti-immigrant policies and rhetoric rampant in the foundation of this state shape the physical, cultural, and sonic environments from which these musical expressions emerge. Our histories in this land, often overlapping although non entirely similar, should be the footing from which we challenge anti-Black in our communities.

"We definitely gotta check our people," Isaiah Andalon says. He referenced the murder of Vanessa Guillen, a Latina woman killed by a fellow U.S. Regular army soldier in Apr 2020. Some Latinos in Los Angeles, seeking justice for the victim, perceived little support from the Black customs. "It was crazy hearing a lot of Latinx people saying like, 'Oh, you know what, next time we're not gonna go support you guys. You lot guys didn't come out for us. Why should nosotros come out for you?'"

This sentiment is ofttimes expressed on social media by Latinx people. Anti-Blackness had masked itself in a "what about the states?" attitude that was harmful in seeking justice for both George Floyd and Vanessa Guillen. As a teenager in high school, I was heavily involved with the Fight for the Soul of the Cities, an organization that focuses on social justice initiatives in our communities. Our focus was directed at combating the Los Angeles Unified School District Police Department's involvement with the federal 1033 Program, which supplies police force departments with military-form weapons.

At a fourth dimension when the policing of young Black and Brown bodies ofttimes turned fatal, a group of Black and Chocolate-brown kids from S Fundamental and East L.A. demanded that our humanity be respected. We understood the responsibility we had toward one another, and I saw firsthand the transformational power of coalitions between our communities. It isn't enough for Latinx people to "not be racist." We must actively challenge anti-Blackness in our communities, as uncomfortable as this tin be.

The urban regional corridos movement is evolving every twenty-four hour period, and perhaps this blending of our musical cultures volition make a difference in our shared community. I am at domicile here. Artists like Fuerza Regida, Herencia de Patrones, Hijos de Garcia, Legado seven, and Natanael Cano document our stories and perspectives. Their songs amplify the lives of young Mexican Americans by revealing what concerns u.s. today. While these urban ballads are extremely important in telling our narratives, it is imperative that we, as a young genre and culture, admit and invite Blackness voices as we take grown upwardly listening to and oftentimes idolizing iconic Black rappers. Merely then volition nosotros create substantial coalitions between Black and Brownish communities and, in doing so, demand respect for our humanity.

Natanael Cano (left) and Bryan Cantero

Photo courtesy of Bryan Cantero

Bryan Cantero is an intern at the Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage and a master'southward pupil at CSU Los Angeles in Chincanx/Latinx studies. All translations of lyrics by the author.

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Source: https://folklife.si.edu/magazine/urban-corridos-south-central-la

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