I didn’t grow up chasing trends. I grew up listening to musical truths.

Pink Floyd didn’t just make music—they peeled back reality.

Coltrane didn’t play notes—he played soul.

Celia Cruz didn’t just sing—she commanded joy through struggle.

Benny Moré made you feel Cuba with every note.

Beethoven told stories with no words.

Queen, Zeppelin, The Doors, Janis, Cash, Aretha, Bob Marley—

They didn’t perform.

They transformed.

Then came hip-hop.

2Pac. Biggie. Immortal Technique. Old Eminem. Nas.

They held mirrors to broken systems.

They told stories no one else had the guts to tell.

It was protest in rhythm.

It was poetry with purpose.

Even the jazz, blues, and boleros before them were full of resistance—of life.

Art used to mean something.

Now?

We’ve traded truth for trends.

Everything’s hypersexualized, commercialized, auto-tuned, and algorithm-approved.

Catchy but empty. Flashy but shallow.

We’ve normalized garbage and called it “progress.”

This is how you control a culture:

You don’t censor it—you distract it.

You flood the airwaves with noise until truth becomes optional.

Until people forget what real sounds like.

They want us numb.

Dumbed down.

Disconnected from meaning, from memory, from each other.

But music used to raise the bar.

It used to challenge power—not serve it.

It was rebellion, beauty, resistance, and soul.

And I’m not letting that go without saying something.

Support real voices.

Reject what’s fake.

Turn off the noise and turn up what matters.