By the Zonagirante.com team @spinning zone
Cover art by Zonagirante Studio
«"It's pop. Because it's pop, because it resonates with the people, and the people celebrate it" (we hear it in a bar or any inhospitable place out there)
What is the new Argentine pop?
There was a time when "pop" was almost a dirty word. It sounded formulaic, like a soulless, catchy chorus, like a music video with recycled choreography. But that's no longer the case. Or at least, not in Argentina.
Today, what dominates the scene doesn't come from prefabricated hit factories, but from messy rooms, raspy voices, and playlists that mix autotune with broken guitars, raw bars with sweet melodies, and rage with partying.
He new Argentine pop It's streetwise, feminist, queer, regional, global, militant, and even romantic when it feels like it. And yes, it's popular. Very popular. So much so that it no longer needs excuses or forced definitions. It takes over festivals, racks up streams, and cranks up the volume without apology.
This is not a fad. It's a mutation.
More attitude than genre: an urgent music
This scene is not uniform, nor does it pretend to be. It moves between sounds that sometimes border on trap, other times embrace punk, and on more than one occasion revive the bolero with an electronic base and fragmented vocals.
What unites these songs is not a genre, but an attitude: urgency.
There's no time for virtuosity or sonic embellishment. Everything has to be said, now. Even if it's off-key. Even if it's annoying. Even if the microphone cuts out.
And so, amidst harsh beats, sharp guitars, meme samples, and lyrics that blend anguish with irony, a new chapter in Latin American popular music is being written. One that unsettles conservatives, drives purists crazy, and—strange as it may seem—has already been embraced by major festivals and record labels that previously ignored it.
The visible faces of the new Argentine pop
There are names that can no longer be avoided.
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Wos He went from being just a freestyle champion to becoming a generational chronicler with a guitar and drums.
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Ca7riel and Paco Amoroso They keep spitting out beats that sound like street, science fiction and punk barbecue.
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Marilina Bertoldi It's a hurricane of riffs, sweat, and unfiltered sexuality.
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Lali, Yes, Lali, she learned to dance on the rubble of the mainstream and to sing with fire in her mouth.
But it's not just them. There's a huge generation—with more attitude than budget—that, from independent labels, rooms with mattresses on the wall, and cell phones in studio mode, is filling the internet and stages with anthems.
Her lyrics speak of anxiety, desire, fear, anger, non-romantic love, and politics without propaganda. Songs that don't aim to please: they aim to leave a mark.
And the rest of Latin America?
Meanwhile, in much of the continent, things are moving at a slower pace. In countries like Colombia, for example, the alternative music scene seems to have frozen into a gallery of established artists who are well into their forties, if not their fifties.
Yes, there are big names, with solid careers and respectable proposals, but they rarely take risks beyond what the circuit expects.
When something new does appear, it often gets caught between nostalgic tributes and safe formulas. It lacks that generational audacity that became a trademark in Argentina. That urgency to break the mold without asking permission, to sing about emotional vulnerability, environmental collapse, or non-normative sex, without solemnity or pretentious concepts.
Creating language: the art of breaking molds
What's most fascinating about this generation isn't just their energy or their boldness. It's their ability to create language. Musical, visual, aesthetic, even emotional.
They appropriate autotune as an expressive tool, manipulating cumbia, folk, rock, rap, and electronic music as if they were clay. And they do so without asking permission from the genres or the guardians of good taste.
Sometimes they sing from pain, other times from the most uncontrolled party, and often from that hybrid place where laughter and tears cross in the same verse.
Their music videos are short films, their album covers are wild collages, their shows resemble artistic demonstrations. And even when they take the stage at Lollapalooza or sign with a major label, they still carry with them the echo of their neighborhood, their rehearsal room, the social collective that supports them.
What's next for the new Argentine pop scene?
But every explosion runs the risk of becoming routine. And when the system detects vitality, it quickly wants to bottle it up.
He new Argentine pop, With all its strength and strangeness, it is already being absorbed by major festivals, algorithmic playlists, and brands seeking rebellion packaged in 15-second stories.
Wanting to make a living from music or signing with a record label isn't wrong. The problem arises when the urgency becomes a pose, when the message is softened to avoid upsetting the sponsor, or when the narratives start repeating themselves because "that works.".
Some symptoms are already visible: recycled formulas, unnecessary features, an overdose of “authentic” marketing.
Keep sharp, don't become echo
The good news is that this generation seems more insightful than others.
Many artists are aware of the risk and use that visibility as a weapon, not as a prison.
The challenge will be maintaining that edge, that initial impulse that propelled them out of the room to blast speakers without asking permission. Making sure the noise doesn't become an echo.
