by SARAH MUSGRAVE

Remember the lambada? Now you can forget it all over again, gracias a Dios.

The current craze in Latin dance music has very little to do with the racy rhythms that briefly swept clubs in 1989—except maybe the groin grinding. But it was around that same time that reggaeton, a hybrid of Spanish reggae and hip hop, was starting to take shape in Latin American cities.

It has since grown into the most gritty, grimy, grating genre to come out of the urban Hispanic scene in ages. From Puerto Rico through Miami and New York, it’s been blowing up record charts and taking over radio stations, providing just the right meaty beat for the steamiest summer block parties.

“It’s a new fresh sound, something that was missing. The Latin music scene hadn’t changed much in years. Bachata was coming out hard in the 1990s, but we needed something from the streets,” says Jose Mata of Criollo, a local band with Dominican roots. “The reason reggaeton is so popular is that they could finally blend salsa, bomba or merengue with hip hop, which is dominating the world right now. That’s why it has such wide appeal.”

And why 2005 is finally seeing the reggaeton revolution, a raunchy, rough-and-tumble movement that has been fomenting for the last decade, ever since Panamanian dancehall met Puerto Rican rap. Several big names in the genre—Daddy Yankee, Tego Calderon and Ivy Queen, along with Don Omar, Nicky Jam, Vico C and Luny Tunes—recently dropped Spanish-language albums, to increasing crossover success. In the States, with a population of 39 million Latinos and a wider audience primed by Ricky Martin, Enrique Iglesias and J.Lo, it’s inspiring yet more talk about how brown is the new black.

Unleashing the perreo

Parallels with the rise of rap are obvious, given reggaeton’s battles, thug-loving ladies, and tales of sex, violence, drugs, love and innocence lost in the barrio. Its growth has been compared to hip hop bubbling in the Bronx in the 1970s, or the socially conscious smoldering of salsa in East Harlem a bit earlier, a DIY excitement that’s palpable any place there’s a significant Latino community—Montreal included.

“The older people have their music,” says 22-year-old Colombian-born producer Frankie Neño of local label NO Records, who performs under the name Genocyde. “This is the current music, this is for our generation, the sound we’ll remember when we look back.”

“One thing about a reggaeton show is you can listen to it and even if it’s gangster you can dance with your girl at the same time,” adds Chavo from Los Playaz, a Peruvian/Venezuelan duo who met in school.

It helps that reggaeton inspires a doggie-style dirty dancing move called el perreo, an ass-in-crotch love-on that would send macarena mavens hurrying to the handbag huddle on secretary’s night out. Big on the bootie, but even bigger on the big bootie, preferably ensconced in tight pants and a thong, el perreo is easy to grasp.

“It’s about movement, about body feel,” Frankie explains. “Not like salsa, which is more about a step that you have to learn. People here who didn’t grow up with it don’t necessarily know it.”

Danceability is the key, agrees DJ Myztiko, who has created beats for artists south of the border, most notably Don Chezina. “You can talk about life, girls, you can be gangster, you can talk about the street. You can be a rapper or a singer, you can blend rock, pop, tropical styles, but the drums are always the same.”

Riddim come forward

That distinctive beat is dembow, a dancehall rhythm irresistible even to cynics. Reggaeton traces its roots back to the sizeable Jamaican population in Panama (brought in to build the canal), where precursors like El General started adapting the percussion and translating the patois into Spanish. When reggae en español hit Puerto Rico, MCs fused it with American hip hop, and the resulting grassroots style became popular in the clubs. Due to political opposition, recordings faced confiscation by the cops, and remained largely underground, distributed on tapes. “The lyrics were thought to be vulgar, inciting violence, disgraceful towards women. Latin America is very different,” Mata explains.

Ten years later, the genre entered the American mainstream in the pocket of NORE (aka rapper Noreaga), who collaborated with Tego Calderon and Nina Sky on 2004’s “Oye Mi Canto,” later remixed with Daddy Yankee. Daddy Yankee had his own crossover hit with “Gasolina,” a dirty ditty about a girl who loves to party. The anthem hasn’t fully infected Montreal dancefloors, but its catchy chorus will stick when it does—like it or not.

“I think ‘Gasolina’ is what got reggaeton on the map,” Chavo says. His partner Tito adds, “Daddy Yankee’s the king, he’s showing it to the world,” while admitting the commercial song doesn’t necessarily represent the depth of the genre.

Still, Daddy’s Barrio Fino was able to go platinum without much radio play. Now he’s modelling Sean Paul threads, opening for Usher, and starring in a film called Straight From the Barrio later this year. Can reggaeton clothing lines and designer sneakers be far behind? If so, Montreal artists want their piece.

“We don’t know if reggaeton is a blast that will go out. It might be an explosion that dies down. I hope that’s not the case,” Myztiko says. “Europe is an immense market. Daddy Yankee is just hitting there, and we want to get in on it while the time is right.”

In Frankie’s basement studio, he’s been working with Los Playaz on a single called “Dale Corriente” that they hope will get play in U.S. and Latin American clubs. They’re just one of many Montreal outfits, like Criollo, Black Caco, Viejo Oeste, Convoy Cubano, Billy One Play, DJ Medy and the two teenage girls behind CK-Rias, in a largely male-dominated scene that unites Spanish speakers from different backgrounds.

“I think that’s one difference between Montreal and New York,” notes Aldo Galvan, who has watched his one-year-old Web site of local reggaeton happenings, www.mesteelo.com, grow beyond his expectations. “In New York, it’s really a Puerto Rican thing, in Montreal it’s all Latino countries, it represents Latin American culture.”

Breaking down barrios

“In the last two years, I’ll tell you, the beats are getting better here in Montreal, the guys are getting to be more professional rappers,” booker Roberto Cabezas of RC Productions remarks. “Before, for reggaeton shows, I was getting a Latino crowd. Now it’s open, it’s in the Canadian discotheques, hip hop discos, everybody knows about it. The door is opening.”

“Montreal is the forerunner in this country,” Jennifer Larry of MRP Music Group contends. “It was brewing underground in Montreal two or three years before anywhere else. I mean, Toronto just introduced its first reggaeton night in February of 2005.”

As Universal’s marketing arm for Urban Latin in Canada, MRP stocks DJ pools and promotes reggaeton artists along with others under the same banner, such as crunk’s Lil Jon, his Cubano-Americano protégé Pitbull and the Ying Tang Twins. For now, MRP’s Great Brown Hope is Fito Blanko, a 21-year-old Panamanian who grew up in Montreal and Toronto. Since Higher Level came out less than a year ago, he has appeared in Spain’s People magazine and on Telemundo Mun2’s The Roof, and his “By My Side” single ranks among the top 50 most played club songs in Canada.

“From a sales standpoint, reggaeton is doing exactly what we thought it would do,” Larry says. “There’s no specific demographic. If you’re young, trendy, whether you’re Hispanic, white or black, if you have a car, and you like to drive around, you’ll like it.”

It’s also spreading the Latino word, she points out: “Not just because of the language but also because of the instrumentation, it does have this cultural essence to it.” Which might account for a lack of radio support. “Top 40 is more hesitant. We are not seeing that urban Latin crossover. It’s a little too Latin, it’s a little too this, it’s a little too that.”

Stateside, it’s a different story. Last month, Univision, the nation’s biggest Spanish-language broadcaster, launched radio station La Kalle, aimed at the 18–34 age group in New York, where 80 per cent of Latin music sold is reggaeton. Clear Channel switched programming in Houston and Miami to “Hispanic Urban,” leaving rock fans complaining. In April, Billboard Latin Music Awards created a music category for best reggaeton album; not surprisingly, Barrio Fino took the prize. The first documentary on the genre, the rather long-winded The Chosen Few, was just released, not to mention Shakira’s reggaeton-inflected “La Tortura,” Jennifer Lopez teaming up with Don Omar, P. Diddy developing his Bad Boy Latino division to take reggaeton to, where else, “the next level.”

“Reggaeton existed before the music business got hold of it,” Larry says. “And it will continue to grow regardless of everything.”

Montrealers would agree. Reggaeton can be heard on Dimension Latina (CIBL 101.5 FM, Sat. 5–7 p.m.) and Los Sábados Rumberos (CISM 89.3 FM, Sat. 1–5 p.m.), found at record stores like Serrano Musique and Caraballo Disco in Little Italy, heard in clubs like Copacabana, Dôme and Exit. DJ Puppa Sacha just started Reggae Nation on Thursday nights at Unity 2, while Club Colors chooses the winners of its Shake and Date reggaeton dance battles on June 25. Recently opened La Rumba (3785 St-Laurent, 803-3204) hosts Criollo with Miami’s DJ IOP on Thursday, June 23, followed by Jump Up on July 2, when Fito Blanko comes to town.

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