At the start of our video call, Cazzu prepares a cup of yerba mate with a splash of hot water. But before she can take a sip of the herbal concoction, she’s already beaming with a natural energy, calm but fired up by the release of her fifth studio album, “Latinaje”: her most intimate project to date.
The new LP, released on April 24, is a sprawling compilation of South American sounds, such as Argentine chacareras, cumbias santafesinas, tango and Brazilian funk.
“The most beautiful thing about this album was that these songs came naturally,” says Cazzu.
The collection, produced by Nico Cotton, is strikingly different from Cazzu’s earlier trap offerings. Since 2017, the femme fatale has been leading Argentina’s crusade in urban music following the release of her debut album, “Maldade$,” as well as the viral 2018 remix of “Loca” alongside Khea, Duki and Bad Bunny.
Cazzu’s stronghold on the country’s fast-growing genre granted her more creative freedom to tap into the traditional genres that she holds dear to her heart — a move she models after those who mainstreamed heritage sounds like Puerto Rican reggaeton and Mexican corridos.
“I wondered, couldn’t I try that with my small hometown?” says Cazzu. “Perhaps there is a space where us Argentinians can showcase our roots to the world.”
Born Julieta Emilia Cazzuchelli, Cazzu is originally from Fraile Pintado, a tiny rainforest town nestled in the foothills between the country’s Yungas and Chaco plains, near the colorful mountain range known as Serranía de Hornocal. As part of the Jujuy region, which borders Bolivia and Chile, Cazzu says her hometown is far from what people think of when picturing Argentina, which usually calls to mind the big city life in Buenos Aires.
“It’s a region that has a mixture of cultures,” says Cazzu. “It’s my identity as a person but also as an artist. The folklore is alive there, [as well as] Andean folklore.”
Cazzu weaves Andean folk traditions into “Latinaje” with the first track “Copla,” which kicks off the album with Indigenous drumming and a poetic affirmation by Cazzu that she is indeed from América Latina. “I [needed to] highlight the Andean roots of the region,” says Cazzu. “Because when we talk about the sound of Latin America, we hardly consider those places and they have such precious music.”
The singer also taps into the country’s traditional chacarera sound, a more rural counterpart to the tango, in “Me Toco Perder,” which features the bold voices of Nombradores del Alba, an Argentine quartet. Her honeyed vocals in the interlude, “Pobrecito Mi Patrón,” pay homage to one of the country’s beloved folk singers, Facundo Cabral, in a cyber-celestial rendition of his famous 1971 song that questions ideologies of wealth and life.
“It’s beautiful to give these songs a second life,” says Cazzu. “In 80 years when I am no longer here, it would be beautiful if someone would revive something of mine.”
Showcasing the richness of Argentine is a deeply personal matter to Cazzu, but so is penning matters of the heart. The lyrics in the album’s leading singles, like the scorching corrido tumbado “Dolce” and slow ballad “La Cueva,” weigh heavily with heartache, highlighting vastly different takes of a love lost. Then there’s “Con Otra,” a santafesina cumbia that takes karmic aim at the other woman.
Last year, the Argentine singer was caught in the crossfire of tabloid drama involving her ex-beau Christian Nodal, with whom she shares a daughter, the 19-month-old Inti. After remaining silent about their separation, she cleared the air regarding the couple’s fallout on a popular Argentine podcast, PLP show.
“It was said that no heart was broken and that no one suffered, [but] I suffered a lot,” said Cazzu on the Luz TV pod. “More than [my] heart was broken, there were many broken hearts.”
The 31-year-old admits she was fearful of expressing herself freely on the podcast. “I think the hardest moment there was knowing that saying something to assert my dignity would have consequences for other people, and that wasn’t my intention.”
“But I knew it wasn’t my responsibility either,” she tells The Times.
Cazzu has become a more sensible person, she says, crediting her transformation to motherhood. In this album, she dedicates a hip-hop lullaby powered by Andean flutes to her daughter Inti, who is named after the Incan sun god.
“I’m always thinking of how to make the world a better place for my daughter to grow up in,” says Cazzu. “What can I do, even if it’s a small grain in the sand, to better this world when she becomes a woman.”
While the Argentine star knows that the public might read a little too much into her lyrics and speculate on how she’s feeling, she’s learned to quiet her receptors of outside judgment. “I remember that the life we are living is here in the present,” she muses.
This record, she clarifies, was composed a long time before her fallout with Nodal. She says only two songs reflect that period in her life — which ones, however, she doesn’t say.
Instead, she laughs about her ability to pen timeless sad ballads and perhaps fool gossips into thinking they reflect her personal life.
“Pucha,” she swears. “Should I write songs where everyone is happy?”
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