Reparteras: Meet the women of Cuba's rising urban music scene

"Born in Cuba's working-class neighborhoods - known colloquially as repartos - this hyperkinetic fusion of reggaetón, timba and Afro-Cuban rhythms has become the island's score. In the mid-2000s, artists like Chocolate MC and Elvis Manuel built the genre's sound on distorted synth stabs, shouted call-and-response hooks, and the distinct Cuban clave beat that makes your body move before your brain can even catch up."

"It's also become a platform for youth navigating scarcity, surveillance and dreams of escaping poverty. The lyrics, characteristically and unapologetically obscene, reflect the realities of life in marginalized communities. But alongside its rhythmic bravado, reparto's explicit language often veers into the dehumanizing and misogynistic. The music centers on women, but more often than not, as objects: the perra to conquer, the diabla to tame, the culo to catalog in explicit detail."

"But the next time 10 reparteros link up for a track, they probably won't call a woman. Within a genre that revolves so heavily around their bodies, women's voices still remain rare. So, ¿dónde están las mujeres? Or, where are the women making reparto? "Chocolate is the king, but who is the queen?" says Seidy Carrera, known artistically as Seidy La Niña. "There's a space that needs to be filled with women. There's no f-ing women!""

Reparto originated in Cuba's working-class repartos as a high-energy fusion of reggaetón, timba and Afro-Cuban rhythms that now permeates urban life in Havana and Hialeah. The mid-2000s sound crystallized around distorted synths, shouted call-and-response hooks and a driving Cuban clave that compels physical movement. The genre provides an outlet for youth confronting scarcity, surveillance and aspirations of escape, with lyrics that are unapologetically obscene and rooted in marginalized realities. Reparto frequently objectifies women, reflecting pervasive machismo, and female performers remain rare despite the music's fixation on women's bodies and nightclub refrains calling for their presence.

Read at Los Angeles Times