Pitbull: We Came to Party

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.”