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

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Most people outside of Cuban communities haven’t heard of reparto music. However, in Havana, Cuba and the Little Havana neighborhood of Miami, it’s everywhere – you can hear it coming from apartments and played on speakers at the beach.

I just got back from experiencing a sound that is Cuba. It’s this incredibly energetic mix of reggaetón, traditional timba, and deep Afro-Cuban rhythms – honestly, it feels like the soundtrack to the island itself. It really took off in the mid-2000s, thanks to artists like Chocolate MC and Elvis Manuel, who pioneered this sound using distorted synths, those instantly catchy call-and-response vocals, and – crucially – the Cuban clave beat. Trust me, that clave hits you physically before you even realize what’s happening; it just makes you move.

As a movie and music lover, I’ve noticed that ‘reparto’ has become a voice for young people facing really tough situations – poverty, feeling watched, and just dreaming of a better life. The lyrics are definitely raw and often shocking, but they honestly reflect what life is like in communities that are often overlooked. However, while the music has a powerful energy, the explicit language sometimes goes too far, becoming hurtful and disrespectful, especially towards women. It’s a complicated thing – a powerful voice, but not always a responsible one.

This music often focuses on women, but frequently portrays them as objects of desire or conquest – as something to be won over, controlled, or simply cataloged physically. This reflects the strong sense of machismo that’s common in everyday life in Cuba.

You’ll often hear the question “Where are the women?” in any nightclub. But when ten reggaeton artists collaborate on a song, they rarely include a female artist. Despite the genre frequently focusing on women’s bodies, female voices are still uncommon in reggaeton.

So, ¿dónde están las mujeres? Or, where are the women making reparto?

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Artist Seidy Carrera, who performs as Seidy La Niña, points out the dominance of male artists, playfully asking, ‘If chocolate is king, who is the queen?’ She emphasizes the need for greater representation of women in the art world, stating there’s a significant lack of female artists currently.

When “reparto” – a collaborative style of Cuban club music – first emerged, artists like Melissa and Claudia subtly included short vocal appearances by women in their tracks. However, because Cuba only recently gained limited internet access, it’s difficult to find much information about these early collaborations online. Even now, most playlists still feature male artists, and female artists are rarely included in studio sessions or collaborations. As one artist explained, “When ‘reparteros’ work together on a song, they almost never invite a woman to participate.”

Born in Havana’s El Cotorro neighborhood, Carrera, 32, grew up in Miami starting at age six. She playfully calls herself the ‘queen of the reparto’ – a traditionally Cuban neighborhood – but her career is marked by a contradiction. While she champions the gritty realism of her community, some criticize her as an outsider, labeling her a ‘gringa’ or ‘yuma’ – terms for a non-Cuban woman.

She says she faces opposition constantly. As a response, she takes back the hurtful words used against her, transforming them into something positive. During her performances, she repeats the phrase “más perra que bonita,” turning a previously offensive term into a statement of strength and self-empowerment.

It feels powerful to say I value my strength and independence over just being seen as pretty. For me, being a strong, independent woman means being self-sufficient and earning my own way. I’ve had to build my own path – no one handed me opportunities or helped me along the way.

Melanie Santiler, a 24-year-old singer-songwriter from Havana, feels she faces an unfair challenge. She explains that she believes she has to work twice as hard and be twice as good to be taken seriously, constantly needing to prove herself and have something meaningful to offer.

Santiler says it’s tiring to constantly feel pressure to look presentable as a woman. She recalls spending years prioritizing practicality over appearance – like wearing her hair in a simple bun – just to avoid the effort of styling it. She laughs, playfully acknowledging the contrast with her current, slightly messy look.

After a hugely popular 2025 collaboration with Velito el Bufón – racking up nearly 5 million views on YouTube for their song “Todo se Supera” – she’s become a rising star in the reparto music scene, known for her unique style. However, this success has also brought pressure to conform to certain beauty expectations, a challenge her male colleagues don’t typically experience.

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Ozunaje, whose real name is Aliaisys Alvarez Hernández, believes she avoids some of the criticism faced by other artists in Cuba’s urban music scene, possibly because of her identity and style. She explains, “I see ‘Reparto’ as a genre dominated by men.” Because she presents and lives in a way that’s traditionally considered masculine, her lyrics often echo those of male artists, giving her an advantage. She feels that artists who present as more feminine have to work harder to be accepted.

Originally a rhythmic gymnast from Havana, 23-year-old Hernández unexpectedly began her music career when friends recorded her singing a demo of “Cosas del Amor” at home. A video of the recording went viral, launching her career. Since then, Hernández has been determined to forge her own path and doesn’t want to be simply categorized with other emerging artists.

As a critic, I’ve always found her artistic choices fascinating. She’s openly stated her desire to be judged by the same standards as male artists – because, frankly, she believes that’s the only way to truly be heard. It’s not just about the music, though. Her style – a deliberate embrace of traditionally masculine clothing and a powerfully raw vocal delivery – feels like a strategic move. It allows her lyrics to connect with audiences on their own merit, bypassing the often unfair and distracting expectations placed on female performers.

Hernández’s style, which doesn’t conform to traditional gender norms, and her openness about her sexuality could make her a target for discrimination. However, despite ongoing prejudice against LGBTQ+ people in Cuba, she says she hasn’t experienced much negativity. She explains that the most critical thing anyone has said to her is ‘tortillera,’ but it doesn’t bother her. In fact, people often compliment her unique look, telling her she has ‘tremendo flow’ and loves her ‘aguaje,’ so she’s never been bullied.

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The often harsh and disrespectful attitudes towards women found in the dembow scene are similar to those in the early days of reggaeton, and reflect a traditionally exaggerated masculinity common on the streets. Because the genre started as an underground movement, it’s difficult to simply dismiss it entirely, as many of its explicit lyrics also contain commentary on social inequality. However, Ozuna believes that to reach a wider audience internationally, the music needs to remove the most offensive language.

Reparto began with people who had very little and were eager for a better life. No one expected it to become so popular. Now that it’s spreading globally, the language used to describe it needs to adapt and grow too, she explains.

Santiler agrees, noting the current trend feels very repetitive. She feels artists are falling into familiar patterns, making things too easy – what she calls facilista, a Spanish term for taking the easy way out. While she enjoys the energy of reparto music, she believes much of it relies on objectification. She points to songs like Bad Bunny’s “Andrea” and “Neverita,” and C. Tangana’s “El Madrileño,” as examples showing that urban music has the potential to move beyond themes of casual relationships.

The music reflects what’s already happening in the streets, and the artists simply put it into song. However, I was raised listening to different kinds of music with broader influences, and I want to build on that to create something new and original.

Santiler adds that the basis of reparto, both in her gratitude and her criticism, comes from pride.

She expresses her deep love for Cuba and its people. She notes that today’s Cubans aren’t abandoning their heritage, but instead are actively building a new culture and movement, eager to share it with the world.

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2025-10-20 23:02