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One night last fall, I flew back to Miami,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], my home, to demand satisfaction from Pitbull. I'd only just learned he was winding down an international tour with a homecoming of his own, a performance at the AmericanAirlines Arena downtown, so I'd made last-minute arrangements. I touched down and drove to the bayside complex, where I slotted myself at the end of a line of people that filled in the whorling tunnels under the AAA. At the front of the line was a black-curtained cube, a kind of collapsible greenroom wherein Pit, local-boy-cum-pop-superstar, was holding a meet and greet with several hundred fans.
There was not another unattended dude down there. Not a single one. Pit was opening for Enrique Iglesias, and men were with wives or girlfriends or else absent entirely. Whole feminine boughs of family trees,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], though,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], from abuelita down to floret in stroller, were entering Pit's black box. The heels-to-flats ratio: three to one. An aide held up a sign explaining that this all was being recorded for a video, and that by our being here we had entered into contract with the artist. The line inched. I had a ways.
A few months ago this very magazine named Pitbull one of the "25 Least Influential People Alive." To me this was evidence of a lot of things, the least of them being a gross misapprehension of the current pop landscape. That one's easy to set right. A quick once-over of international singles sales at the end of January shows that among rappers, only Drake is as popular. But allow me to dig a little deeper. He's a dazzlingly shitty agglomeration of others' bad ideas,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and his appeal is inexplicable, or in spite of himself,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], or a reflection of these dire times- maybe all of the above. This was a surface dismissal of an artist presumed to be all surface, the assumption being that what shines and shimmers must also be shallow.
After a little more than an hour,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], my turn came. From the outside Pit's cube looked ten-by-ten, but inside, it was weirdly expansive, extra-dimensional, like. When I entered he was catering to the last of the fans, signing soccer jerseys, taking pictures, cascading Spanish thanks for coming all this way. He wore a black suit,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], black shoes, black shirt embossed with black stripes, blunted black aviators. About three years ago his wardrobe shifted from Cuban-flag-patterned jerseys and "305" fitteds, to fine linen suits tailored so as to bypass the imagination entirely. The walls were papered with identical ads for Voli, the low-cal vodka Pit has a stake in, featuring him holding both a full glass of the drink and the bottle itself, self-serving, above the phrase "Everyone should have a Latin lover."
This was not the Pitbull I wanted to meet, greet. I wanted the other Pit, young Pit,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], the Pit whose albums of the midaughts were made up of greasy banger odes to Miami rapped under a royal "we." Back then nobody much knew Pit outside Miami, where he's been beloved for nearly a decade because of songs like "305 Anthem" and "Defend Dade," songs I looped endlessly when I went upstate for college and began to self-actualize. I used to tell people, If you want to better picture where I'm coming from,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], listen to Pitbull. Hobbesian coke rap tends to project a skewed image,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], sure, but the Miami young Pit rapped about came closer to the reality of the place than anything before it. Nobody else had ever bothered to describe the landed part of the metropolis that stretches on low and vast like a usedcar lot, the one that shows up every year atop think-tank worst-of lists. The city where most Miamians are from.
He's since traded in the title of Mr. 305 for Mr. Worldwide. You can watch him perform at the NBA All-Star Game and halftime on Thanksgiving. His official videos have been viewed more than a quarter-billion times. His number one single "Give Me Everything," off his album Planet Pit, has been playing since last summer at the mall, the club, the gym- anyplace anyone is selling anything.
Planet Pit is a super-producer showcase through which he's become the avatar of four-on-the-floor, oonce-oonce club rap,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], or hip-house. The beats are Euro-disco and the verses are divorced from the street or any other public space. They're set in places of business and are all about patronizing. (The first lines to "Give Me Everything": Me not working hard? / Yeah,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], right-picture that with a Kodak / Or better yet, go to Times Square / Take a picture of me with a Kodak.)
Click to EnlargePitbull at 17 in Miami's Little Havana. He says he chose
his moniker because in dogfights,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], pit bulls are "too stupid
to lose" (1998). Along with Kodak,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Bud Light, and Voli, Pit endorses Dr Pepper and Zumba Fitness, which builds workout programs around his music. He also has equity in these dissolvable tongue squares called Sheets Energy Strips. Last year he made a reported $6 million this way, being hiphop's foremost shill. What his new songs sound like are the pages in a portfolio, or a really engaging PowerPoint presentation on synergistic potential. Planet Pit is something Pitbull could take to ConAgra and be like, "This is what I can do for the Snack Pack brand."
I'd returned that night for a long-desired and likely ill-advised reprisal,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]. It was on behalf of all Miami that I was going to j'accuse Pitbull of not keeping it real.
Up close, Pit is always moving in small ways, wavering, like something seen through heat shimmer. When he met some new fan, his eyes seemed not to look at, but around her. The most expressive part of his face was his left eyebrow, which arched and waggled, like a petted cat in the lap of a villain. He glad-handed a tall white guy, some executive. "A pleasure, Richard," he said, and then he took off his sunglasses and went, "which means you're a Dick, right?" Surrounding him was what's referred to as Team Pit, his roundtable of managers, agents, and friends, and they all earnestly lost it.
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