Bad Bunny’s ‘DTMF’ Is A Love Letter to Puerto Rico

The opening track of Bad Bunny’s sixth studio album, “Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” which was released on Jan. 5, doesn’t begin in the way many of us have come to expect typical reggaetón songs to start. There are no heavy synths underlining the intro, no plucky “wite” melody (how Puerto Ricans refer to the iconic melody sampled from Jamaica’s “Bam Bam” riddim), and no pounding dembow bassline. Instead, “Nuevayol” opens with a sample from the salsa classic “Un Verano En Nueva York” by El Gran Combo, the first sign we are in for something different. And by the time the album’s 17 tracks are through, we’ve been taken on a tour through Puerto Rico’s rich musical history. This is Bad Bunny’s most Puerto Rican and emotionally vulnerable album yet, where he uses the island’s musical soundscape as a canvas to comment on its many socio-political issues while cultivating the musical terroir of Puerto Rico’s future.

“Debí Tirar Más Fotos,” which translates to “I should’ve taken more photos,” comes at a crucial time for Puerto Ricans, both on the island and throughout the diaspora. With the same administration that has helped lead the island into corruption and decay about to take office yet again, there is no guarantee that our traditions or way of life won’t be directly impacted. Such is the march of time, and the impact of over 500 years of colonization cannot be understated.

Bad Bunny, born Benito Antonio Martínez, seems to understand this better than most. The album is framed loosely by the idea of the singer entering the new year alone, reflecting on a lost love, which can easily correlate to the loss of agency, sleep, and a promising future many Puerto Ricans are grappling with. Our beaches are slowly being poisoned. Our lands are being sold to crypto billionaires. And our lights still won’t stay the fuck on.

Given these circumstances, it’s not hard to see how the nostalgia of the past can serve as an escape. But Martínez, while his character might be drinking pitorro and reminiscing about an ex, isn’t getting lost in nostalgia. He’s using it to bridge the gap between the island’s past and its future. While the opening track starts with a salsa sample, which shouts out Puerto Rican legends like salsero Willie Colón and the owner of the last standing Puerto Rican social club in NYC, Maria Antonia Cay (known as Toñita), the second song on the album, “Baile Inolvidable,” sees Martínez harmonizing in his typical urbano cadence over the horns, keys, and typical salsa orchestration provided by Libre de Musica San Juan. This is followed by tracks borrowed from less commercial genres, such as bomba y plena, música jíbara, and bachata. However, while the sonic landscape of “DTMF” owes much to the island’s past, the voices it features are primed to shape the island’s musical tradition for years to come.

Puerto Rico’s next big thing, RaiNao, is featured on the track “Perfumito Nuevo,” a sexy, upbeat reggaetón number with pulsing, alternating dembow rhythms that are perfect for a day-trip across Puerto Rico’s sunbaked carreteras. The very next track, “Weltito,” calls in assistance from up-and-coming Latin jazz, tropical fusion quartet Chuwi.

Martínez might be a once-in-a-generation superstar, but he’s always understood that he is part of a bigger musical tradition, one that includes greats like Hector Lavoe, Andres Jimenez, Olga Tanon, Big Pun, Tego Calderon, and many more. And with that comes a certain responsibility. Martínez knows that any artist he features will be springboarded into the spotlight, and he uses his platform accordingly to ensure that the tradition continues long after he’s gone.

There’s been a “recent back to the roots” movement sweeping across the underground scene in PR, with new artists experimenting with more traditional sounds, which the artists featured on the album, including Chuwi, Rainao, Omar Courtz, and Dei V are all a part of. Even Rauw Alejandro stepped up to embrace a more classic style and pay homage to the diaspora on his last album with a cover of ‘Tú Con El” by Frankie Ruiz. So it’s no surprise that after “nadie sabe lo que vas a pasar mañana,” the trap masterclass that was his last album, Martínez’s latest project would have him going in a more eclectic direction and using his platform to help push the island’s sound in that direction.

But in many ways, Bad Bunny is also kind of an anti-superstar. Whereas being a pop star often means trading in a more cultivated sound for something that appeals to the masses, Martínez has done the opposite. The more his fame has grown, the more his musical trajectory has diverged from typical pop stardom, leading him down the path of auteur and activist similar to hip hop artist and rapper Kendrick Lamar. Similarly, as his fame has grown, his albums have become less accessible and more insular. “DTMF” is not an album that caters to outside audiences. It’s not meant to appeal to tourists, something the artist touches on in the track “Turista,” a cautionary tale about falling in love with the superficial but being unwilling to accept or live with a person’s or, in this case, a place’s imperfections.

But maybe the most impactful track on the disc is “Lo Que Le Paso a Hawaii.” On it, Bad Bunny examines the similarities between Hawaii and Puerto Rico, how both were made U.S. territories in 1898 and how the transition from colony to statehood has served the American interests while raising the cost of living and marginalizing native Hawaiians. It is an eerily similar parallel to what Martínez sees occurring today in Puerto Rico: the influx of American ex-pats, the gentrification of cultural centers, and the government’s push for statehood. It’s no wonder the artist was brought to tears on a recent visit to San Juan. The album is filled with bittersweet sentiments like these.

If “Un Verano Sin Ti” was a love letter to Caribbean culture (Spanish and non-Spanish speaking alike), and “nadie sabe lo que va a pasar mañana” was an homage to the street life of Puerto Rico, then “DTMF” is a celebration of who we are as people, a testament to our grit, and our contribution to music as whole. Sure, the traditional genres are well represented here, but there are also touches of house and spoken word, which remind us of the roles we’ve played in elevating those arts.

Martínez is wielding nostalgia as a weapon here, taking aim at those who would see us pushed off our lands and erased from history in the most Puerto Rican of ways: by making noise. And in the process, he’s fully come into his own as an artist and visionary. And that vision puts his island and his people front and center in everything he does. As he says on one of my favorite tracks from the album “EoO”: “You’re listening to Puerto Rican music. We grew up listening to and singing this. In the projects, in the hoods. Since the 90s, the 2000s until forever.”

Miguel Machado is a journalist with expertise in the intersection of Latine identity and culture. He does everything from exclusive interviews with Latin music artists to opinion pieces on issues that are relevant to the community, personal essays tied to his Latinidad, and thought pieces and features relating to Puerto Rico and Puerto Rican culture.

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