“First they steal our gold and now our Grammys,” “There are never events like this in Latin America, where much of the talent for these awards comes from,” “This isn’t what Bolivar and San Martín fought for! First the Copa Libertadores, now this,” “Rosalia’s fault.” A quick scan of Latino cultural watchers and critics on Twitter, including Isabelia Herrera, a journalist at the influential music site Pitchfork, reveals a stream of openly hostile comments about plans to celebrate the Latin Grammy Academy’s next year in Andalusia. And it has only been a day since the contract was signed.
The current boom in Latin music, especially its urban expression, dictates the aesthetic, musical, and cultural rules of modernity across both mainstream and underground scenes. Artists such as Bad Bunny, who has topped Spotify’s global artist chart for three consecutive years, along with Daddy Yankee, Karol G, Rauw Alejandro, and the revival of Shakira, hold influential positions not only in streaming but also in public discourse. Creators like Kali Uchis, Arca, La Goony Chonga, and Villano Antillano also shape the cultural conversation. This means that when a Latin ensemble — whose musical language has long been boxed into narrow categories — faces public dismissal from a supposedly high-culture audience, it signals a tension between tradition and the evolving visibility of majority cultural expressions. Critics who claim cultural superiority may feel unsettled as more diverse voices gain prominence, a shift some interpret as cultural colonization.
Andalusia will host the 2023 Latin Grammy premiere, with Sevilla a favored setting.
Rosalia Phenomenon
That long-running debate from 2019, when Rosalia — still emerging in many circles — began to draw attention from tastemakers including MTV and its surrounding ecosystem, resurfaced. The idea of a Catalan artist blending urban Latin rhythms did not win unanimous support among activists within the Latino community, who argued that cultural appropriation deserved scrutiny. Critics like Gary Suárez argued that in discussions about Latin music, European and white artists could be foregrounded at the expense of a broader Latino plurality.
A later Billboard profile of the creator of Motomami addressed the issue by highlighting cultural interconnection. The interview underscored how today’s artists draw from multiple cultures and genres, often blurring traditional boundaries, and suggested that this cross-pertilization should be celebrated rather than policed.
The question of whether Rosalía is Latina depends on the lens used: language of performance suggests one reading, while demographic identity suggests another. The Latino community often identifies with the Americas through demographic roots rather than language, which explains why artists like Anitta, who blend rhythms and traditions from multiple places, receive broad Latino recognition while Rosalía may be viewed differently. Anitta herself is neither white nor European, complicating simple racial or regional labels.
Today, opposition to holding the Latin Grammy awards in Spain tends to come from anonymous voices on social media, but it is plausible that a respected figure in Latin music could later respond with strong critique. Rebellion can be fashionable, especially when it is targeted and perceived as non-disruptive to the event. When the awards descend into November, it remains possible that invited artists might display symbols or voice dissent against historical colonial legacies tied to Spain. This is a topic that could receive renewed attention. As a recent historical reference, Residente released This Is America in March 2022, with lines that critique power dynamics and cultural footprints in the United States and beyond.
Galas: the auctions that end the controversy
Goyas in Seville, Malaga, and Valencia, Feroz in Zaragoza — more gala events frame cultural debates around a few major capitals. This pattern resembles a reciprocal system where organizers of high-ticket showcases partner with governments eager to spotlight their regions. The result is a kind of cultural auction where the biggest financial bid often wins the day, and money frequently settles debates, even those about postcolonial sovereignty and representation.