Let's start with the Edgar mullet: the haircut that has kids all over Mexico flocking to barbershops and demanding the 'Peso Pluma'. This is just one of the idiosyncrasies that have made Hassan Emilio Kabande Laija the man of the moment in mainstream Spanish-language music. There's the expensive jewelry and designer clothes—Richard Mille watches, Christian Dior shoes, Maison Margiela jackets—that he regularly checks into his songs. There is his slender physique. And then there's his voice: a scratchy, sometimes grating croak or rap, depending on his mood. This unique voice sings about many things: popping bottles of Dom, carrying bricks of coke, murdering enemies, hooking up with Russian models. You know, an average Tuesday.
Over the past year, the 25-year-old Mexican singer of Lebanese descent has amassed a list of charting and streaming records as well as a CVS receipt, taking Mexican music to unprecedented commercial heights. EXODUS, his fourth studio album, is a victory lap. the LP celebrates how far the movement has come, with Pluma bringing together friends, cousins and fellow pioneers like Natanael Cano, Junior H, Tito Double P and Eslabon Armado. But the album is also a good-faith attempt to establish Peso Pluma's versatility—and the longevity it promises—in the industry. EXODUS confirms that he is one of the most gifted corrido performers of our time, but when it comes to his ability to shape-shift between genres and flows, Peso Pluma, the pop star, still has some convincing to do.
The crackle of Peso's voice is his molten core EXODUS. Its uniqueness is a blessing, but at times it can also be a curse. His gravelly growl is particularly effective on the stripped-down norteño “La People II,” which appears to be written from the perspective of Joel Enrique “El 19” Sandoval Romero, a sicario and head of security for the Sinaloa cartel who was captured by Mexican government in 2014. Pluma and his guests growl wildly as they tell stories of police, national guard and military fighting to protect their bosses (ostensibly Ovid Guzmán López, a high-ranking Sinaloa cartel leader and El Chapo's son ) from conception. Peso takes on El 19's voice, asking his associates to take care of “his land, his family and his parents,” presumably while he's locked up.
The debate about the roles of artists in the spectacular drug culture did not begin—and will not end—with Peso Pluma. All too often, narcocorrido stars have become ideological scapegoats for the federal government's failure to curb the violence. At other times, artists have denied having any sociocultural impact. The reason is full, but one thing is certain: Pluma excels when he interprets the myths of narco culture, no holds barred. It places him firmly in the lineage of his forebears, such as his late idols Chalino Sánchez and Ariel Camacho, who showed a similar talent for passionate storytelling even as they romanticized narratives of murder and revenge. La Doble P redefines that tradition on 'Put Em in the Fridge', a chilled trap beat built on a horn loop. He tries a crazy but warlike beat on for size, bragging to Cardi B about moving pounds and calling out shooters to put their enemies on ice. Cardi's gift for rapping in both Dominican Spanish and English makes her a natural partner here. the pair go bar for bar in an exciting, impressive display. It's also a great example of Pluma's talent for reimagining his musical legacy for today.
