Op-Ed: No Todo Es Para Ti. (Not Everything Is For You.)
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Everything isn’t for you. Everything, also, isn’t about you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate it. I went into last […] The post Op-Ed: No Todo Es Para Ti. (Not Everything Is For You.) appeared first on Essence.
Black News 
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. Bad Bunny’s catalog to prepare myself for the production, I still didn’t understand much of anything. Nevertheless, a few of his songs had quickly become go-tos while getting my sons’ dinner ready and washing dishes at night. (Listen, I’m knee-deep in domesticated working-mom life, so this is the closest I can get to “club” activities.)
So when Sunday night rolled around, while I still had no idea what was being said, I danced from my seat—fully enveloped by the creativity on my screen and the joy unfolding in front of me. The representation, too.
Which is why I was a bit annoyed listening to the radio this morning when callers were asked what they thought of Bad Bunny’s Halftime Show and said they “weren’t feeling it.” The main complaint? Not that they don’t like his genre of music, but that they didn’t understand it. “He should’ve performed in Spanglish,” one man calling into Hot 97 said.
Talk about a cop-out.
This is New York City. A melting pot of cultures. At any moment you can turn on the radio and hear music you may not fully understand. From Spanish in reggaeton and Latin trap to patois in Caribbean sounds, language barriers have never stopped people from dancing in this city alone.
And I know this excuse well, because I initially tried to play around with it. Could I really be into a Halftime Show if it wasn’t in English? Sure, I could. As a Nigerian-American, I grew up hearing plenty of music I didn’t understand but came to love anyway—from Sir Victor Uwaifo to Ebenezer Obey. There are sounds you hear at gatherings Stateside, or riding in the back of a car through Lagos, that simply draw you in.
As an adult Afrobeat stan, trust me when I say there’s still plenty of music in that genre I don’t understand. Despite what folks think, Nigeria alone has hundreds of native languages. (And while Yoruba and Igbo artists tend to dominate the genre, for example, my people are Edo and speak Bini.) English bridges the gap, but the music stands on its own.
Even in church, as someone who attends a Pentecostal African congregation, I sing worship songs in languages from Nigeria and Ghana that I don’t know. I may not understand the words, but I understand the purpose: We’re offering praise. And that’s enough for me.
From Burna Boy to Asake, to Dunsin Oyekan and Joyous Celebration, I can groove without needing every lyric spelled out when the music is that good.
And so can you.
Everything doesn’t need to be spoon-fed to us to be worthy of a chance. The indolence with which we approach art, wanting it to arrive as easily and comfortably as possible, is wild. Especially in a tech age where translation is a tap away, if understanding is truly what someone wants (as we’ve seen in translated clips circulating on social media).
But more than that, the show felt intentional. It was an expression of pride in Latin and Caribbean culture—from the Bad Bunny halftime show spanish Super Bowl
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