With a low voice and a minimalist syncopated rhythm, Wilfredo “Willy” Aldarondo sings laments. “The love of my life left for New York / my mother followed my aunt, to Florida they went / packing my bags, it’s my turn now / the plane landed, and no one applauded. ”
These are the opening lines of “Tierra,” the first single from Puerto Rican band Chuwi’s new EP of the same title. Founded in 2020 in the northwest coastal town of Isabela, Chuwi is made up of Willy, his sister Lorén Aldarondo, his brother Wester Aldarondo and his friend Adrián López. Describing the band’s sound is a challenge in itself. Is it Latin jazz, indie rock, urbano, tropical fusion or something else entirely? The answer to all of these questions is “yes”.
Over the past two years, the quartet’s popularity has grown among listeners and industry peers. Part of the reason is that they seem to have played an all-too-common role in Latin American music: a group whose music echoes the activist sentiment of their generation.
“Tierra,” the song, makes unmistakable allusions to one of Puerto Rico’s most contemporary anxieties. In 2019, the Puerto Rican legislature passed Act 60, which codified generous tax breaks for foreign investors who move to the archipelago and establish themselves as residents.
The result led to what critics call a nationwide gentrification effort that pushed residents out of their own neighborhoods. Swathes of real estate have been purchased and turned into short-term rental spaces, causing housing costs to skyrocket; Meanwhile, the benefits promised by the law’s supporters have not materialized. Between the disastrous Hurricane María of 2017 and the twin earthquake and pandemic of 2020, population decline was rapid and severe, causing even more disastrous effects.
Chuwi’s words resonate with Puerto Ricans dismayed by what is happening around them. Puerto Rico has a strong history of music groups flaunting their political leanings on their sleeves. Bands like Fiel a La Vega, Cultura Profética, and El Hijo de Borikén followed the standards set by Argentine national rock and Chicano folk music, among other influences. Even reggaetón became known as “perreo combativo” during the 2019 protests on the island that forced then-governor Ricardo Rosselló to resign.
But Chuwi is frank about the fact that, despite appearances, they don’t consciously identify as an activist group, even if their songs tend to hew closer to the zeitgeist of political discourse on the island. Instead, the group sees themselves more as artists putting their emotions on the page rather than preaching a particular ideology. “We write about what weighs on us, and we use [music] as an outlet,” Willy says. “That’s how we started. We just wanted a way to express ourselves about the things that make us uncomfortable or the things that we love.”
Another track from the EP, the merengue-tinged “Mundi,” immerses the listener in the tanned skin of the real Mundi. This African savannah elephant spent 35 years alone at the Dr. Juan A. Rivero Zoo in Puerto Rico, less than an hour from Isabela in the neighboring town of Mayagüez. The elephant’s plight became a cause celebre among local animal rights activists, and Mundi was eventually relocated in 2023 to an elephant sanctuary in Georgia.
For Chuwi, the song grew out of their proximity to the zoo, which they remembered visiting on school field trips when they were young. It also serves as an homage to a song their mother often played: “Laika” by the ’80s Spanish pop group Mecano, about the Soviet space dog sent on a doomed solo mission to space in 1957.
“We wanted the song to be factual, so we investigated [Mundi’s backstory] but at the same time, it made the whole thing catchy, and if people pay attention to the lyrics, they will also be emotionally devastated,” laughs Lorén, who is also the band’s regular vocalist.
One of their most impressive songs is “Guerra,” a Dominican palo that channels frenetic Afro-Caribbean rhythms, creating an aural sensory experience that mimics the enveloping chaos of its namesake (“guerra” means “war”). If the war has indeed been at the forefront of the news for the past seven months, this is another example of their muse working unconsciously.
“We live in this world, we are exposed to these things, we are passionate about certain things in our personal lives, so musically [it bleeds in]”, explains Loren.
Their eclectic style and seriousness attracted the attention of larger groups. Grammy-winning producer Eduardo Cabra of the iconoclastic rap duo Calle 13 and artists like Buscabulla (“We call them mom and dad,” Lorén says) advised them, for example, in their still nascent stage of youth band.
Seeing them live reveals another reason why Chuwi connects so much with audiences. Lorén’s voice hypnotizes as she hums and moans with honeyed tones, and Adrián’s percussion easily gets people’s blood and emotions racing. In Lorén’s case, she draws on ancient teachings from her years of singing in church to fully engage listeners in the show she and her bandmates put on.
“I rely a lot on emotion in my performances. If I don’t feel it, the audience won’t feel it. In church, they taught us that when you sing something, you’re singing for God, and if the People see your authenticity, then you will inspire them to sing for God too,” she says. “If you’re vulnerable, they will be vulnerable too. If I’m not authentic, how can I expect audiences to connect to the music we create?”
And while they hope their upcoming projects, including a debut album they’re already hard at work on, will show more of what they’re capable of lyrically and sonically, they’re not about to shy away from speak from their hearts, even if it could qualify them as resistance artists.
“I think it means our music reaches people. What we feel is not just among us,” Wester says. “Seeing people identify with it makes us feel like we’re not alone. I’m okay with being seen that way.”
Juan J. Arroyo is a Puerto Rican independent music journalist. Since 2018, he has written for PS, Remezcla, Rolling Stone and Pitchfork. Its goal is to expand the canvas of Latin stories and make Latin culture – particularly Caribbean Latin culture – more visible to the general public.