To his fans, Pitbull is a multiplatinum recording artist
with an unmatched work ethic and dedication to his lifestyle. To the music
industry, he is a versatile moneymaker who is willing and able to work with
anyone in the business. To his detractors, he is a shallow facsimile of a
musician, cobbled together from marketing directors like a Frankenstein’s
monster of commercialism.
The rest of the public is left to wonder- who is this man in
dark sunglasses and a white suit, conspicuously holding his beer with the label
facing the camera in every Budweiser commercial? Who is this racially,
musically, and professionally ambiguous character who finds his way into every
televised performance of live music?
Many will be surprised to learn that biographical
information on Mr. Worldwide is extremely scant. He has no Wikipedia page, no
personal information listed on his Facebook or Twitter pages, and his personal
website only features a few press photos and upcoming performance dates. When
asked for personal information, his publicist provided a broad sketch- Pitbull
grew up in poverty in Miami and became involved in the city’s music scene at a
young age. He hung out at night clubs, picking the brains of DJs about Hip-Hop,
Pop, Dance, R&B, and Reggaeton music. Then, the publicist asked me if I
would be interested in booking PItbull for a personal event.
As I dug deeper into the history of Pitbull, it became clear
that one of two possibilities had to be true: Pitbull either erased most of his
history, or never had a history to begin with. There were no friends, family
members, former teachers, or neighbors who could shed light on his past. All of
the details about his history were just vague enough that they could not be
easily disproven, but they did not paint the picture of how Pitbull became an international icon.
Part I: Trespassers Beware of
Dog
After failing to pinpoint the location of Pitbull’s
childhood home, I tried a different approach to get in touch with the man. I
signed up for Pitbull’s fan club and went to the location listed as the return
address on the letter they sent me with my official Pitbull aviator shades and
a bag full of Bud Light and Dr. Pepper merchandise. The location was not a
suite in a downtown office building like I expected, but an industrial warehouse
in suburban Atlanta. The warehouse looked less like an office for a
multi-platinum recording artist and more like a training facility for Bond
henchmen.
When I got inside, I noticed that there were several
stations set up- a stage, a talk show set, a green screen, a fake nightclub. Pitbull
was sitting at the talk show set giving what appeared to be a mock interview
with one of his managers. I was not surprised because I have heard of
celebrities preparing for talk shows by giving mock interviews, even though this elaborate simulated world was more extensive than I would have imagined. I wandered near
the set and sat in one of the empty chairs since there was no audience for this
event. As soon as I sat down, the manager stopped asking Pitbull questions and
angrily asked what I was doing there. I explained that I was a journalist who
wanted to learn about Pitbull’s backstory, so I came to the headquarters for
his fan club to learn more. The manager told me that I had to leave and called a rented private security guard to usher me out of the building.
Her anger caught me off guard, so I stayed nearby to see if anyone
else would come out of the building. To my surprise, Pitbull came out about 30
minutes later wearing a track suit and carrying a duffle bag instead of his
trademark white suit and aviators. Even more surprisingly, he started to unlock
a 2001 Toyota Camry in the parking lot as I walked up to him. At first, he seemed
angry and did not want to talk, but when he recognized me as the reporter from
inside the warehouse, he told me to meet him at a nearby Wafflehouse an hour
later. Suffice to say, I was extremely confused by the situation, yet intrigued
by the possibility to interview Pitbull himself after the extended runaround
while researching the story.
I was surprised that my dinner companion made me pay for his
coffee and scrambled eggs, but I was even more surprised by what he was about
to tell me.
Part II: Grooming a Pitbull
In musical history, there have been plenty of examples of
managers and record labels capitalizing on a brand name. Menudo recycled Latin
American teenagers like they were soda cans. Axl Rose hung onto the Guns ‘N’
Roses brand name almost long enough for the world to see the birth of real
Chinese Democracy. KISS even cycled in new made up Halloween characters when
the principles wandered into foolhardy solo projects.
Nonetheless, until that day I had never heard of the concept
of multiple performers operating under the same professional brand name at the same time. It turned out that my
dinner partner was not Pitbull, at least not yet. His name was Vincente Osuna,
a native New Yorker of Puerto Rican descent. He spent some time trying to make
it as a DJ after dropping out of high school and even made a music video for
YouTube with a friend who sang, but he gave up on his music career over two
years ago and took a job selling data plans at a T-Mobile store.
At least Mr. Osuna thought he had given up his music career.
Approximately three months ago, a man and a woman in well-tailored business
suits walked into his T-Mobile store. In his Queens neighborhood, they might as
well have been wearing bondage outfits because their clothes stood out like sore
thumbs. The pair asked for Mr. Osuna by name. When he introduced himself, they
asked for a private place to talk. They trio went to an office behind the sales
floor and the business partners asked if he would be interested in making
another attempt at his music career with their help. He told them that he gave
it up because he needed a more steady income. They said that they could not go
into detail, but that they were ready to sign him to a lucrative contract that
would pay him over $200,000 per year if he could successfully complete a 6-week
training program. Of course, he would have to sign a gag order and keep every
detail of their conversation confidential. Moreover, they instructed him that
he would have to move to Atlanta for the training program and that he would not
be allowed to bring any friends or family with him. If he failed the training
program, he would receive a $20,000 severance check and would owe no additional
obligations to their production company.
Despite his reservations about the program’s secrecy, Mr.
Osuna found the money too good to pass up. On top of that, the exchange piqued
his curiosity. Why would this company appear out of nowhere to offer him a
music contract based on a mediocre YouTube video that was more than two years old? When Mr.
Osuna arrived in Atlanta, he was whisked from the airport directly to the
warehouse facility into which I stumbled earlier in my trip. Mr. Osuna entered
the building with only a duffle bag. He was seated, confused and alone, at the
end of a long table in an empty boardroom.
After a few minutes, the two executives who met him in
Queens entered the room. They explained to him that they brought him to Georgia
to train him to be Pitbull. He asked if they meant as a body double or a seat
filler. No, they told him after reminding him of the confidentiality clause in
his contract, they wanted to train him to rap, dance, dress, talk, and carry
himself like Pitbull. But how was this possible? Pitbull, they explained to him, is not a
person, but an identity drawn up by test marketers and executives from RCA
records. They developed a versatile, identifiable, and non-threatening musical
identify specifically designed for mass consumption. They knew that media
saturation would be the key factor in whether the public would quickly learn to
identify this new act. When they started to call in performers who could fit
the mold, they realized that they were not necessarily constrained by any
performer’s inability to be in two places at once. If they found two singers
who looked enough alike, they could train them both to behave the same way and
they could double their cultural presence.
Mr. Osuna was amazed, but the explanation certainly shed
light on the question of how Pitbull could make so many public appearances
without ever disappearing from the public eye or resting. He agreed to proceed with the
training program and embarked on a strenuous process of learning to walk, talk,
and interact in accordance with the Pitbull brand. He had to learn answers to
thousands of rote questions that he was sure to face in interviews because an
inconsistency could shed light on the Pitbulls' split personalities. Of course,
he was given the white suit and aviator shades on day one, but the process was
far more rigorous.
Part III: A Whole Litter of
Pitbulls
Mr. Osuna is not sure how many Pitbulls there are in the
world right now, but estimates that there are between 20 and 30 clones making
good on the “Mr. Worldwide” moniker that the label bestowed on its creation. He
said that he got the impression that the RCA executives he met in the T-Mobile
store spend all of their time trying to identify and cultivate new Pitbulls,
and that their primary constraint is strictly appearance. As soon as they find
someone physically similar enough to the first Pitbull with some inkling of an
interest in the music industry, they bring him to Georgia to start the training
process anew. Mr. Osuna only met one other Pitbull in training, but saw records
and correspondences with almost two-dozen others, and admits that their total
number might be significantly higher than he knows.
Naturally, there was an original Pitbull. Armando Perez, a
Miami native of Cuban descent, fit the bill when the RCA executives were
casting for the job. The few biographical details that are available about the
pre-professional Pitbull are generally derived from Perez’s past. He was
first placed by his label as a supporting musician on the album Kings of Crunk by Atlanta-based producer
Lil Jon, who is a highly-trained stage actor playing a role he helped develop
for an off-Broadway play and adapted as an ironic yet successful parody of hip
hop excess.
From there, Pitbull’s creative output has been so prolific
that it would be astounding if compiled by only one man. Pitbull has released
nine studio albums in the last eight years. The character was positioned as a
co-founder of the Bad Boy Latino record label with Sean “Diddy” Combs as part
of the transition of the character from purely a musician to a business mogul
as well. The brand has also associated itself with countless products,
including Kodak, Dr. Pepper, Bud Light, Voli Vodka, and Miami Subs Pizza and
Grill. RCA even released a song titled Vida
23 with a Dr. Pepper brand tie-in on one of the Pitbull albums.
These professional accomplishments have been buttressed with
an unprecedented grassroots marketing effort on behalf of the army of Pitbulls.
The character has appeared on countless talk shows as a performer and a guest.
He is featured on hundreds of songs by other performers and invariably shows up
in their music videos. The brands for which Pitbull is a spokesman have
uniformly commented on his dedication, saying that they sometimes feel guilty
for asking him to make so many public appearances even though he never turns
them down. In the markets close to Pitbull’s billed hometown of Miami, Pitbull
shows up at civic functions, business openings, street fairs, and even
occasional birthday parties to perform, sometimes unsolicited. Many have
noticed that it is more surprising to see a televised performance of live music
without Pitbull involved than with him.
 |
| Above: Pitbull performs at a bar mitzvah. |
Part IV: Teaching an Old Dog to
Turn New Tricks
Without a doubt, the Pitbull experiment has been highly
successful for the record company, as it has raked in millions of dollars while
paying its performers a fixed fee in the low six-figures every year. On top of
gate receipts and record sales, the character was specifically designed as an
endorser, and the corporate sponsorship money has been unmatched.
The project has not been without pitfalls, of course. Mr.
Osuna, for instance, had his contract terminated immediately after I saw him
conducting a round of interview training. He was willing to divulge these
secrets because his $20,000 severance check was being withheld since his
identity as a Pitbull was compromised. It remains to be seen how many other
disgruntled Pitbulls could emerge after the label’s exposure.
The success of the Pitbull brand has certainly encouraged
other labels to mimic the project. Mr. Osuna said that he observed the measured
responses to questions and generic behavior by boy band One Direction and was
instantly convinced that they were another record industry contrivance with
several iterations roaming the world. Furthermore, it is a well-known fact in musical circles that the original Black Eyed Peas died nearly 10 years ago.
The lingering question is whether the Pitbull popularity can
withstand this revelation. Will fans continue to buy tickets to see Pitbull in
concert if they know that the man on stage is an actor playing a role rather
than an artist expressing his talent? Will his endorsement be worth anything
now that he has been exposed as a corporate mechanism specifically designed to
shill for whichever product is willing to cut him a check? Will the public be
willing to overlook the fact that the record labels have insulted their intelligence
and treated them like ATMs with a pulse? Judging by the state of American
popular music over the last twenty years, the answer is a resounding “yes.”
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