el precio de la yuca / Bexaco y rico

Are today’s urbano artists getting too big for this Earth or just getting big heads? When commercial música urbana aspires to represent “the future,” it often feels more like the clichéd fantasies of elite reggaetoneros playing with tech toys on the moon. High-gloss imagery of partying-rocking in alien spaceships or bumping beats with cyborg anime babes doesn’t seem to resonate with Dominican producer mediopicky, whose adventurous music recognizes that a compelling vision for the culture has to mean more than flying cars for the one percent.

A DJ since 2015, Pablo Alcántara alchemizes sci-fi worlds rich in trippy, chaotic Caribeño experimentation via Santo Domingo’s alt-perreo scene. September’s el precio de la yuca (the price of the yucca) is presented as a podcast from 80 years in the future, led by two scarily real-sounding AI hosts, Hickory and Malory, who offer track-by-track commentary on its warehouse-ready mixes. The album navigates a fascinating musical topography—cumbia, punk, merengue, hyperpop, Latin trap, new wave, metal, reggaeton, R&B, dembow, and disco—all infused with satire. Early on, our hosts contend that mediopicky’s eccentric ideas are already inspiring the next generations of música urbana. That might be an exaggeration, but I hope they’re right. mediopicky’s work reflects the raw experiences of the alternative Latin diaspora—speaking directly a los darks.

On the album’s 12 actual songs, mediopicky offers subversive insight into the contemporary urbano scene, demonstrating the vast potential of Latin beats by morphing them seamlessly across genres. Drawing from nu-metal favorites like Slipknot and System of a Down, the angsty title track opens the album with an attack on capitalism and inequality: Sure, you’d love to buy a house one day—but do you even got “McDonald’s money?” As AI host Hickory notes, the cumbia percussion in this track hails from ’90s Argentina’s “cumbia villera,” a punk-inspired subgenre that captured the apathetic perspectives of marginalized communities facing poverty and political unrest. Atop brooding electric guitar static, “el precio de la yuca” encapsulates the album’s ethos: música urbana as renewable energy, a form of resistance to wealth, celebrity, and commercialization.

A standout moment is “Amoniaco,” a clever spoof of Bad Bunny’s 2023 hit “MONACO.” Mimicking its subwoofer Latin trap beat and el Conejo’s signature vocal inflections, mediopicky satirizes the luxury-obsessed narratives often found in urbano music, bellowing, “Tu namás habla porquería/El ego tuyo no me anima/Tú solo hablas de ti” (“You only talk shit/Your ego doesn’t inspire me/You only talk about yourself”). The production then shifts toward moody ’80s new wave reminiscent of the Cure, replacing boasting with atmospheric detachment. mediopicky suggests that while today’s superstars may fade, class struggles will remain relevant. When contemporary moments in Latin music become time capsules, what will we have packed inside them?

mediopicky finds an answer in songs devoted to resourcefulness and community. On the dembow-slash-nu-metal hybrid “cansano,” he proclaims, “E’ que no vamos a cansano” porque “tenemo’ la legumbre/tenemos los granos/prendan lo’ habano.” Humans are resilient and innovative, he suggests, “and we won’t get tired” because “we have the legumes/we have the grains/light your cigars.” The coiling metal-merengue track “negro frutal” echoes this refrain of self-sufficiency and connection, closing the album by insisting, “No me de comida enséñame cómo sembrarla” (“Don’t give me food, teach me how to plant it”).

Despite its conceptual gravity and dense format, el precio de la yuca resists getting bogged down by staying danceable and not taking itself too seriously. When Malory cues up “violento”—a thrashing, aggressive song about being unstoppable—she adds a canny meta-observation that dethrones her creator: mediopicky “se presenta como una artista futeristico, pero el era igual que los raperos que el mismo criticaba” (“He presents himself like a futuristic artist, but he’s the same as the very rappers he’s criticizing”). On the eerily bright disco jingle “mi data,” mediopicky denounces the internet, submitting that it will someday be ancient technology. In a January interview with Escena Latinoamérica Radio, he elaborated, “Tengo una visión donde los jóvenes van a decir, ‘Oh, el Internet es para los viejos—volvamos a las calles!’” (“I have a vision where the youth will say, ‘Oh, the Internet is for old people—let’s go back to the streets!’”)

Other songs plunge deeper into this desire for real-life sensation, with restless rhythms that twitch and contract involuntarily. “gracias” unleashes a shadowy club track in praise of ass cheeks. “Ya me subio” is about playing with lighters just to feel something. The high-strung “dime que me quieres” brilliantly mixes merengue with hyperpop, and “cuclillas” (or “squatting”) conjures a dank, crepuscular pill trip that bounces in and out of consciousness to a soundtrack of industrial drum’n’bass. mediopicky knows the world has its ear on the Caribbean, especially the Dominican Republic, and he proposes we listen in a new way. Wildly innovative and singular, el precio de la yuca takes advantage of urbano’s massive current platform to amplify its defiant roots.

mediopicky’s creative output continues to evolve: In October, he returned with 10 more tracks on Bexaco y rico (Unruly and delicious). This newest album ditches the podcast format, brain-scratching lyrics, and metal and punk melancholy in favor of stimulating Latin club. If el precio de la yuca is drive-time radio for the intergalactic commute, Bexaco y rico is a set of spliced-together files on a USB drive. “DEMB000W BI00NIC00000” delivers exactly what its title promises: classic, highly produced dembow with synthetic flourishes fit for TRON. “Bexaco” and “el diablito” pull from the same strain of glitchy, twirling techno perfect for a 4 a.m. rave, while “PARTYTEO” merges hyperactive Latin riddims and house influences.

On “SPEED,” mediopicky actually does fantasize about driving one of those damn flying cars—check the greenscreen video clip. Funny enough, the song comes across as the album’s least inspired; its predictable tempo, sensual moaning, and telephone effects sound sourced from a middle schooler’s SoundCloud likes. In contrast, “Ochenterto” and “tu papi rico” surprise with their subdued tarraxo flair, shuffling and stuttering beneath ambient electronic clouds. Bexaco y rico doesn’t quite reach the experimental heights or conceptual depth of el precio de la yuca, nor does it aim to continue its narrative. Instead, it’s a fresh canvas for mediopicky’s feverish imagination.