Roots and Rhythms: From Bomba to Modern Puerto Rican Sound
By Elena Vega Santiago | November 2024 | 15 min read
Puerto Rico is a small island with an outsized influence on global music. From the bomba drums that echo across four centuries to the reggaeton beats that now dominate streaming platforms worldwide, Puerto Rican sound has repeatedly transformed popular music. Understanding this musical journey—its African roots, its continuous evolution, its global reach—is essential to understanding Puerto Rican culture itself.
This is the story of how an island of 3.2 million people became one of the most important musical cultures on Earth.
Bomba: The Heartbeat
Bomba is the oldest surviving musical tradition in Puerto Rico, and its significance extends far beyond music. Brought to the island by enslaved Africans—primarily from the Kongo, Yoruba, and other West African peoples—bomba was a form of resistance, communication, and spiritual practice that survived centuries of colonial oppression.
At its core, bomba is a conversation between dancer and drummer. The primo (lead drum) follows the dancer’s movements, creating a call-and-response dialogue that can last for hours. The dancer leads; the drum follows. In a colonial society designed to strip agency from enslaved people, this relationship was revolutionary.
“Bomba is about communication,” explains master drummer Victor Vélez of the Cepeda family, one of the most important bomba lineages. “The dancer is telling a story with their body. The drummer has to listen, respond, anticipate. It’s a language.”
The town of Loíza, on Puerto Rico’s northeast coast, has been the center of bomba practice for generations. The Cepeda and Ayala families, among others, have preserved and transmitted the tradition, ensuring its survival through periods when African-derived cultural practices were suppressed or dismissed.
Today, bomba is experiencing a revival. Young Puerto Ricans, seeking connection to African heritage often erased from official histories, are learning the rhythms, dances, and songs. Groups like Bomba con Buya, Ausuba, and Los Pleneros de la 21 perform for new audiences while maintaining the tradition’s integrity.
Plena: The People’s Newspaper
If bomba is sacred, plena is secular—though no less important. Emerging in the early twentieth century in Ponce and the coastal towns of southern Puerto Rico, plena is a working-class music form that chronicles daily life, political events, and social commentary.
Plena songs function as oral journalism. “Temporal” (1928) described a devastating hurricane. “Cortaron a Elena” told of a woman attacked by her lover. “Qué bonita bandera” became an anthem of Puerto Rican nationalism. Through plena, communities processed their experiences, celebrated their heroes, and critiqued their oppressors.
The instrumentation of plena—panderos (hand drums) of varying sizes, güiro, and singers—is simpler than bomba’s complex drum batteries. This accessibility helped plena spread quickly through working-class neighborhoods and migrant communities.
When Puerto Ricans began migrating to New York in large numbers in the mid-twentieth century, plena went with them. It became a sound of diaspora identity, a way of maintaining connection to the island even in the cold streets of El Barrio.
Salsa: New York’s Puerto Rican Sound
Salsa is perhaps Puerto Rico’s most recognized musical export, though its birthplace is actually New York City. In the 1960s and 70s, Puerto Rican musicians in New York began fusing Cuban son, Puerto Rican bomba and plena, American jazz, and R&B into a new urban sound.
The Fania record label, founded in 1964 by Dominican musician Johnny Pacheco and Italian-American lawyer Jerry Masucci, became the home of this emerging genre. Fania’s roster read like a who’s who of Latin music: Willie Colón, Héctor Lavoe, Celia Cruz, Rubén Blades, Ray Barretto.
Puerto Rican artists were central to salsa’s development. Héctor Lavoe, from Ponce, became “El Cantante de los Cantantes”—the singer of singers. Willie Colón, born in the Bronx to Puerto Rican parents, produced some of salsa’s most politically conscious albums. Ismael Rivera, “El Sonero Mayor,” brought bomba’s rhythmic complexity into salsa arrangements.
Salsa was music for dancing—specifically, for the elaborate partner dancing that developed in New York’s Latin clubs. But it was also music with lyrical depth. Songs addressed love and heartbreak, yes, but also poverty, racism, Puerto Rican identity, and political struggle.
By the 1980s, salsa had become a global phenomenon, popular from Colombia to Japan. But as the genre commercialized, some felt it lost its edge. The stage was set for something new.
Reggaeton: From Underground to Everywhere
Reggaeton’s origins are hotly debated, but Puerto Rico is indisputably where the genre crystallized into its modern form. Emerging from the housing projects of San Juan in the early 1990s, reggaeton fused Jamaican dancehall rhythms, Latin American reggae en español, American hip-hop, and Puerto Rican street culture.
The signature “dembow” beat—derived from Jamaican producer Shabba Ranks’ 1991 track “Dem Bow”—provided the rhythmic foundation. Puerto Rican producers like DJ Playero, DJ Nelson, and Luny Tunes developed the sound; MCs like Daddy Yankee, Tego Calderón, and Ivy Queen pioneered the vocal style.
For years, reggaeton was an underground phenomenon. Its explicit lyrics, association with urban poverty, and perceived vulgarity led to official suppression—police raids on record stores, censorship on radio, moral panics about corrupted youth. This suppression only increased the music’s appeal to young Puerto Ricans alienated from mainstream culture.
The breakthrough came in the mid-2000s. Daddy Yankee’s “Gasolina” (2004) became a global hit, and suddenly reggaeton was everywhere. The subsequent decade saw Puerto Rican artists dominating Latin music charts, winning Grammy awards, and influencing mainstream American pop.
Today’s biggest reggaeton star, Bad Bunny, has taken the genre to unprecedented heights. His albums have broken streaming records, topped Billboard charts, and earned critical acclaim from publications that once dismissed Latin music entirely. Bad Bunny’s success—singing primarily in Spanish, centering Puerto Rican identity, refusing to compromise for English-language markets—represents a new cultural moment.
The Continuous Thread
What connects bomba to reggaeton? On the surface, they seem worlds apart: one is a centuries-old African tradition, the other a digital-age pop phenomenon. But look closer, and continuities emerge.
Both are fundamentally rhythm-driven. Both emerged from marginalized communities. Both were dismissed by cultural gatekeepers before eventually gaining recognition. Both serve as vehicles for community identity and expression.
Most importantly, both continue to evolve. Contemporary artists like iLe (formerly Ileana of Calle 13) are explicitly connecting Puerto Rico’s African heritage to modern sounds. Her album Almadura (2019) incorporates bomba rhythms and collaborations with traditional musicians alongside contemporary production.
“You can’t separate the music,” iLe has said. “Bomba is in reggaeton whether people recognize it or not. It’s in our bodies, in our rhythms. It’s how Puerto Ricans move.”
The Future
Puerto Rican music has never been static. Each generation has reinvented the island’s sound while maintaining connections to what came before. There’s no reason to think this will change.
Right now, a new generation of Puerto Rican artists is emerging: producers experimenting with electronic music and traditional rhythms, rappers incorporating bomba samples, young musicians learning plena in community workshops. Some will become global stars; others will remain beloved local figures. All are contributing to a musical tradition that shows no signs of slowing down.
Four centuries after the first bomba drums sounded on Puerto Rican soil, the island’s music remains vital, innovative, and irresistibly danceable. That’s an achievement worth celebrating—and studying, and preserving, and passing on.
Elena Vega Santiago is a San Juan-based music journalist and radio producer. She hosts the program “Raíces” on WIPR Radio.