Pitbull: Dale - Spectrum Culture

Pitbull is not a joke. His first album, M.I.A.M.I., came out over a decade ago. With a net worth over $50 million, he is one of the most successful musical artists to ever grace this good earth. Let me say again, Pitbull is not a joke.

Why do we insist on treating him like one? Perhaps it’s his self-appointed moniker, “Mr. Worldwide.” Perhaps it’s the pun-heavy, girl-obsessed lyrics emblematic of an especially clever middle-schooler. Perhaps it’s his penchant for oversized pastel suit jackets and indoor sunglasses.

Whatever the case, this punch-line perception makes it difficult to approach Dale, Pitbull’s honest-to-God ninth full-length LP, with any sort of seriousness. How does one review an album against such prejudice? Listen until it hijacks your brain.

Subjecting myself to Dale over and over again was a lot like cycling through the Five Stages of Grief: Denial (this can’t be real); Anger (I’ll fight Pitbull right now); Bargaining (anyone, trade iPods, anyone?); Depression (might as well never listen to music again); and finally Acceptance. Because after thirty listens or so, it finally dawns on you: Dale is ingenious. It’s dirty, it’s danceable and it takes no brainpower whatsoever.

Try not to focus on songs like “El Party” and “Mami Mami,” which exemplify Pitbull’s usual ethic: thoughtless partying with beautiful women. They’re Dales’s least valuable songs and fail to redeem themselves in either flow or melody. Thankfully, this isn’t a rule for the album. “Baddest Girl in Town” has all the complexity suggested by the song’s title, but boasts an infectious, invigorating synth-horn interlude, while Haciendo Ruido” features a Ricky Martin recently risen from the dead. He implores us to “lift our hands to the wind” with a sickly sweetness, but it’s still impossible not to sing along.

This is Pitbull’s specialty: big, Spanish stadium rap. Take “El Taxi.”Initially, just another ditty about taxi romance, the song eventually earns its keep through a terrific maraca-anchored rhythm and a spectacular chorus of intricate Spanish chanting. If you can ignore Pitbull’s many Tommy Wiseau-like laughs throughout, “El Taxi” actually offers an exciting, energetic Hispanic presence rarely heard in mainstream pop. By fully embracing his Latin roots, Pitbull has made his most widely appealing, dance-worthy album yet.

This has implications beyond nightclubs and low-rider stereo systems. During a short speech at Premios Juventud, Pitbull demonstrated his power as a Latin American icon and role model for Latinos, calling out Donald Trump for his comments on Mexican immigrants. “Watch out for El Chapo” he warned Trump, “I want him to know I’m not a politician. I’m a musician. I’m a Latino first. I support our people.”

This is Dale’s Pitbull—a Cuban-American, the child of immigrants, a textbook American Dream. A boy who according to the Miami Herald recited the works of Cuban poet and national hero José Martí “for stoned locals in Little Havana bars by age three.” And while the poetry might have disappeared, Armando’s love for his people hasn’t: he has an honorary degree from Doral College for his positive work in the South Floridian community; he sponsors the Sports Leadership and Management charter school in Little Havana, aimed at low-income, at-risk youth. Even that atrocious World Cup song “We Are One.” Sure, it’ so bad it’s borderline offensive. Like many things about Pitbull, however, it’s bad in the service of something better. Hell, in terms of sentiment, it’s just a stone’s throw away from John Lennon.

Of course, that’s not Pitbull’s normal image. We expect the Pitbull who says “Mr. Worldwide” so often, he might be a Pokémon. We expect the Pitbull who raps lines like “She’s looking for a Richard, or should I say Dick?” This is why we think we hate him. This is what makes people hijack internet contests and send him to Kodiak, Alaska. Enter the Pitbull the Punch Line. Only the Kodiak story has a triumphant conclusion—the entire Podunk town showing up at his concert to go absolutely ham. He even received the key to the city. I think he named a couple babies.

More and more and more I think Pitbull is laughing with us. I mean, he definitely knows he’s bald, right? He hasn’t changed his look in ten years—it’s not because he’s dumb. After all, he’s made millions, slept with beautiful women, become a household name, all on the strength of what might be the coolest art. No, he’s not a great rapper, but he demonstrates one of the world’s most important lessons: To succeed, it is not enough to create bad art; one must create the right kind of bad art.

Dale is exactly that. It’s wonderful in the most terrible, mind numbing ways. It’s gonna sell millions. It’s gonna be inescapable. So consider this: if Pitbull’s a joke, what does that make the rest of us?