The beats of Bogotá

“Rolo” is local slang and refers to those native to Bogotá. “Rap Rolo” is the raw sound currently resonating across the capital, from its most diverse corners, created by all sorts of inhabitants: petite girls who daylight as graphic designers; tough shaven-headed skateboarders who spray the walls with foul-mouthed graffiti; gang members who’ve survived a few too many shootings, and environmental activists who campaign for climate justice. 

The rolo rap scene holds up a mirror to the social inequality of Bogotá. Its raw anger reflects how many lack access to political change in this highly segregated metropolis. 

Bogotá's hip-hop is full of both the fire of the street and its eclectic, unruly cultural life. Unlike the Colombian version of reggaetón, which has been flooding out of Medellín to dominate the commercial charts for over a decade, rolo rap is urgent, expressive and dense with imagery. It's not in the playbook of rolo rap to endlessly repeat a single refrain; songs are too precious a commodity to be squandered on repetition. 

The sound quality of many of the recordings is astonishing, as is the skill and ingenuity with which rolo rappers use multiple distribution channels. Often released on small labels via independent networks, they reach global platforms without losing touch with their barrios, often continuing to perform at the local festivals from which they draw their energy.

“What all these Rolo rappers hold in common is their urgency. By airing the rage of the marginalised, they revive hopes of a better life”

 Lucía Vargas and Karen Tovar, two MCs from Ciudad Bolívar, one of Colombia’s poorest and toughest neighbourhoods, joined forces in 2015 on foot of a European tour and founded “Naturaleza Suprema”, now one of Bogotá’s most relevant feminist, politically engaged hip hop projects. 

They sing about the oppression and murder of indigenous people in the Amazon region and about the valuable knowledge in danger of being lost as a result. The pair have campaigned for political prisoners and, in 2021, participated in the national strikes and protests against corruption and antisocial government policies. 

Their performance at the Hip Hop al Parque festival in 2023 is legendary. Their song “Tiempo de emancipación” speaks out against state-sponsored violence: “We are the strength of these people / that will not be silenced / And we are the tears of mothers / fighting for justice for their children.“

The Puente Aranda MCs who form Underclass U.C. also rail against police violence. The sound on their album “El Rap Conmigo” (2019) is less explosive than that of Naturaleza Suprema and more like the soundtrack to a nighttime stroll through the city streets, past walls covered in graffiti (also, incidentally, an important, oft-criminalised form of expression in the rap rolo environment). “Lo ideal” (2024), their latest single, is a metaphysical chant, which could just as easily have been written by hundred-year-old monks. 

In contrast, Suppra, who is probably the best-known female lyricist in Colombian rap, impresses with her fresh, youthful, sparkling voice and sophisticated arrangements. From Kennedy, one of Bogotá's poorer neighbourhoods, she now livies in Chile. Suppra's lyrics aspire to a political as well as spiritual emancipation, her rap sowing seeds for the future in a kind of activism of consciousness that simultaneously unleashes the “power of an anaconda” according to her current album “Epifanía“. 

Realidad Mental, alias Óscar Alejandro Corredor Zabala, an icon and veteran of the scene who, like Suppra, comes from Kennedy, also raps about alternate states of consciousness. He’s been on the brink of death, thanks to a hellish addiction to basuco, a grim low-grade form of cocaine, and frequently makes prison visits to rap with inmates in his rough, lived-in voice. 

It’s hard to think of another rolo rapper whose freestyle alchemy (which also takes inspiration from his love of literature) could compare with Realidad Mental. His album “Volviendo a lo básico” (2014) features dark, underworldly sound fragments, jazzy saxophone and scratchy, plaintive violins. 

What all these Rolo rappers hold in common is their urgency. By airing the rage of the marginalised, they revive hopes of a better life. 

_{Translated by Jess Smee}