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Vivir Quintana’s latest album, Cosas Que Sorprenden A La Audiencia (Things That Surprise the Audience), harnesses her vocal prowess and poignant lyrics to narrate the stories of women who found themselves imprisoned after defending their lives against their abusers. Through the lens of the corrido—a traditional Mexican genre often criticized for its associations with violence and misogyny—Quintana reshapes this narrative, infusing it with themes of dignity, justice, and denunciation.
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Presented in a first-person narrative, Quintana’s sophomore offering is the culmination of ten years of research and collaboration with women who trusted her with their experiences of self-defense and the subsequent loss of freedom that followed allegations of “excessive self-defense.”
“Fifteen years ago, a friend of mine was the victim of femicide. It shook me to the core, leaving me with a sense of helplessness,” Quintana shared in an interview. “I often wondered how different things might have been if she had managed to end her abuser’s life instead.”
The tragedy that befell her friend became the inspiration for her acclaimed 2020 song “Canción Sin Miedo” (Song Without Fear), a potent feminist anthem used in marches and protests against gender violence throughout Mexico, especially in solidarity with mothers searching for their missing children.
In her recent album, Cosas Que Sorprenden A La Audiencia, released digitally on April 24, Quintana delves deeper into the roots of machista violence, a crisis reflected in the grim statistics that show an average of ten women murdered daily in Mexico for gender-related reasons according to UN Women.
Launched under Universal Music, the album features ten corridos, a style that originated in the Mexican Revolution, serving as a medium to present perspectives often omitted from mainstream history, as noted by experts consulted by Billboard Español.
With rich guitar melodies and a striking accordion, Quintana harnesses this regional musical tradition to illuminate stories, including that of Yakiri Rubio, featured in the song “La Nochebuena Más Triste” (The Saddest Christmas Eve). In 2013, Rubio was kidnapped and subsequently defended herself against a sexual assault, resulting in the death of one of her attackers.
Opening the album is “Era Él o Era Yo” (It Was Him or Me), which recounts the case of Roxana Ruiz, who in 2021 was sentenced to six years for killing her assailant. The poignant lyrics reflect the struggles faced by women who fight back against their aggressors: “Files and more files/ With my name and the names of other women/ Who fiercely dodged death/ Justice destroyed our luck.”
The album’s other tracks, including “Mis Cuarenta” (My Forty), “Mi Casita” (My Little House), and “Claro Que No” (Of Course Not), delve into various aspects of women’s realities and struggles. The title track, inspired by Marisol Villafaña—sentenced to 20 years for defending herself against an abusive partner—echoes Quintana’s message of societal surprise at women’s self-defense compared to the normalcy of men receiving leniency for femicide.
“The title reflects our collective shock when a woman stands her ground, yet we remain unfazed when men receive a light sentence for taking a woman’s life,” Quintana articulates.
As one of the new faces of corrido music in Mexico, Quintana, recognized at the 2024 Latin Grammys as a Leading Lady of Entertainment, has transformed the genre over the past decade by integrating activism into her music. Her repertoire also includes “El Corrido de Milo Vela,” honoring journalist Miguel Ángel López, murdered in 2011, and “Compañera Presidenta,” a homage to the first female president of Mexico, Claudia Sheinbaum.
“With this album, I aspire for people to not only open their hearts but also their minds to the reality of gender violence, which requires our collective action,” she states. “It’s crucial that the voices of women who have lost their freedom also resonate in our society.”
Addressing the ongoing debate around corridos that glamorize drug trafficking, which face prohibitive measures in several Mexican states, Quintana argues that outright bans are ineffective.
“The truth is, children born into environments fraught with organized crime often have limited narratives. If they develop an interest in music, what else can they evoke?” she reflects. “Music mirrors the reality of its creators; thus, while narcocorridos should be discussed in educational contexts, this distinction is essential for understanding the complexities of their narratives.”
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