Tego has long distinguished himself through his poetic politics, but he balances the preaching with cutting humor, a sense of fun, and a wide range of topics and concerns. Here there’s the poignant plea of a father estranged from his child and restrained by a biased legal system (“Oh Dios”) as well as a touching tribute to Tego’s late father (“A mi papá”) supported by a sweet, nostalgic beat provided by Miami-based producers Major League. Produced by Salaam Remi and featuring Puerto Rican hip-hop veteran Eddie Dee and up-and-coming label mate Voltio, the necksnappin’ “Payaso” reanimates a well-worn Herbie Hancock sample (from the Headhunters’ “Watermelon Man”) in order to assail wanna-be gangster reggaetoneros as “clowns”; it calls for fewer street stereotypes and more range and substance. Non-Spanish speakers shouldn’t worry too much about missing every detail, since even native Puerto Ricans have trouble keeping up with Tego’s wide-ranging slang, which includes obscure regional references and terms from his grandparents’ generation. As he says in a rare English phrase on the album, “You might not understand, but it’s hot.”
He’s also happy to balance his more thoughtful turns with tracks telling the girls to “move it.” So for listeners looking for some plucky, in-the-genre bangers, there’s the boom-ch-boom-chick of “Pon la cara,” “Comprenderás,” and the sole Luny Tunes production on the album, “Cuando baila reggaetón” (featuring Yandel). Even his synth romps stand up to, if they don’t trounce, the competition, and the regular stylistic shifts prevent the dem bow fatigue that sets in all too often in reggaetón albums.
The occasional misstep is the price of experimentation. “Mardi Gras,” a bluesy reggaetón grind, is too full of aimless guitar noodling to redeem its bold attempt at another fusion — though Tego’s cartoonish, gravelly chorus almost redeems the track’s Southern kitsch. “Bad Man,” a dancehall tune featuring Buju Banton, feels uninspired and gratuitous in its tough-guy posturing and by-the-numbers gun lyrics. The quasi-live funk of “Bureo bureo” probably should have been saved for a misguided unplugged album, and though “Chillin’ ” (with Don Omar) has staunch vocals, the producers’ chock-a-block attempt at roots reggae is square. Tego turns in solid performances throughout, but he shines brightest when he goes out on a limb.
On the tracks where he indulges his love for salsa and emulates Maelo, “el negro calde” takes a step forward for reggaetón and salsa alike. On “Llora, llora,” DJ Nelson provides salsatón accompaniment for Tego and venerable Venezuelan singer Oscar D’León. But it is on “Chango blanco,” an avian allegory about black pride, where Tego shows himself to be a budding sonero. Supported by a full salsa band, he sings with brio the story of a black bird painted white who learns, thanks to some rain, to love his true color: “I want to stay/I want to stay black/I was born with this color/And it looks good on me, good.” Improvising his way through a call-and-response montuno, Tego dips into the occasional rap-style vocal for contrast. At the end, he pronounces “weak salsa” to be done; this may provoke the anti-reggaetón old folk, but it’s not necessarily off the mark given the degree to which salsa, especially in its romántica guise, has become cheesy and apolitical. Tego’s turn here hints at the reinvigoration both genres might enjoy through such an exchange. He may not yet be the “sonero mayor,” or premier improviser, that Maelo was, but he’s on his way.
