In the music video for the 2021 hit “Dance Crip,” Argentine rapper Trueno bikes, walks and dances his way through the soulful Buenos Aires neighborhood of La Boca. Anchored by a lethal bass line, funky female choruses and the MC’s breathless flow, “Dance Crip” established the 22-year-old as one of the most creative voices in the burgeoning space of Latin hip-hop.
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The son of the Uruguayan-born MC Peligro, Trueno (real name Mateo Palacios Corazzina) won freestyle competitions as a teen, and gained momentum when his YouTube session with Argentine wunderkind producer Bizarrap went viral. He belongs to a triumphant new wave of Argentine rappers who have experienced global success during the past decade – from Cazzu and Nicki Nicole to Duki and Tiago PZK – and whose sound betrays the inescapable influences of trap and reggaetón.
Trueno’s second album, 2022’s “Bien O Mal” (“Good or Evil”) was an operatic masterpiece boasting live instrumentation and guest stars from disparate genres. In contrast, this year’s “El Último Baile” (“The Last Dance”) — Trueno’s debut under new label Sony Music Latin — is a brisk love letter to the roots and splendor of hip-hop culture. Key album cuts like “Tranky Funky” and “Real Gangsta Love” became his highest-charting releases yet, with the latter becoming RIAA Gold certified in the United States and a No. 1 song on Spotify in Spain and Argentina, peaking in the top 10 of multiple global streaming charts.
Building on that momentum, Trueno hit the States for the first time, starting with a set at the Outside Lands music festival in San Francisco, and impressive showings in Los Angeles, New York City and Miami. Taking a short break during his international tour, Trueno talked with Variety about his creative process, a recent financial fracas, and the importance of keeping things positive.
I’m still trying to process the epic scope of your previous record, 2022’s “Bien O Mal.” How did you approach creating a cinematic album?
At this stage, every new project is a learning experience. I don’t feel established, or fulfilled, or anything like that.
“Bien o Mal” signified an important step for me because I felt the responsibility to convey a message – namely, combining hip-hop culture with the native sounds of Argentina and South America. My first album had allowed me to visit countries, see things from a different perspective and meet Latin people in other corners of the world. Those experiences helped me realize that I belong to a specific place, and “Bien o Mal” allowed me to express that.
“El Último Baile” is an expansive record, a conceptual dedication to the many facets of hip-hop. It’s also very short – just 30 minutes long. Is that intentional?
That was the challenge, yes. “Bien o Mal” is a long album, split into two parts with an interlude in the middle. I wanted to avoid repeating myself, but also to generate the feeling that “El Último Baile” is a dance party from beginning to end – and the songs are all connected. It’s all about celebrating, and the hope is that people will feel compelled to listen to the whole thing in one sitting.
It’s such a life-affirming record, too. Do you see positivity as a big component of your musical identity?
Absolutely. Hip-hop was born from necessity, from the lack of tools and solutions. But at the same time, it stems from the idea of throwing a party in the hood and having the gangs duking it out in a rap duel instead of killing themselves. The problems of the streets are similar in every urban center of the world. If we generate a feeling of unity in the people who are suffering, we can forge a new future together. Hip-hop can help eliminate crime and murder, the paths that should not be taken.
It’s much more real to dissolve the boundaries and differences than pretending to be tough. A singer is a singer, a tough guy is a tough guy – I don’t really buy into the idea of being both. I have younger siblings, and the kids in my barrio look up to me as an example to follow.
Many of your songs bring to mind the melodic ease and funky vibes of classic hip-hop from the ‘90s…
I’m so glad to hear that. Even though I was born 10 years after that specific era – and so far away from the U.S. – I grew up with a father who’s an activist of this movement, and I’ve been listening to hip-hop all my life. Every single album of mine is a way of expressing my gratitude to a music that has taught me so much.
Lush female choruses are a big part of your sonic identity. How did that come about?
That’s because I grew up listening to the music of great producers like Dr. Dre, Pharrell, the Neptunes. Sometimes it’s the song itself that begs for those big female voices – I hear them in my head before I even record them. I also like to have other people adding their energy to my project. Since [“El Último Baile”] doesn’t have any features, the guest artists are the producers, musicians and vocalists that contributed their talent.
Your previous management team got hold of your masters, and you were forced to buy those rights back at a great cost. Have you fully recovered from that experience?
I was 17 when I started working with that team, and I never tackled music as a business. But we live in a complicated world, with people who have ulterior motives and don’t share our sensibility for the arts. The last thing I care about is luxury and making money, and I was too naive in terms of those financial matters.
It’s trial and error, though. Now I’m surrounded with people who have the honest intention of providing the tools to propel my music forward. I will be happy as long as I see the crowds singing and jumping whenever I’m onstage. People may take my money, and whatever else they please. But they will never manage to kill my passion for music.
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