The Rebel Rhapsody of the Colombian Coast
The hammock sways in a sun-drenched courtyard in northern Colombia, and Lido Pimienta rocks gently as she speaks. She is worried. The presidential election is days away, and the rightwing candidate Abelardo de la Espriella has promised to “disembowel” the left. He later called it a figure of speech, but Pimienta knows what that kind of rhetoric means for artists like her. “We would be target number one,” she says, her voice calm but edged with steel. The hammock is multicoloured, handwoven, the kind you find in every village market along the Caribbean coast. It is not a luxury accessory. It is a throne.
This is not the Colombia of boutique coffee plantations and Cartagena’s walled-city sunsets. This is the Colombia of dembow rhythm, requiem mass, and resistance. Pimienta’s new album, *Caribenya*, turns the dancefloor into a battlefield. It is a record that hisses with indignation at racism, colonialism, and the music industry’s relentless urge to pigeonhole her into “world music.” She refuses the label. “What is the point of having a voice if I can’t speak freely?” she asks, and the question hangs in the humid air like a challenge.
For the ultra-wealthy traveler who has already chartered a superyacht through the San Blas Islands or booked a private finca in the Coffee Triangle, the Colombian Caribbean coast offers something rarer than white sand: authenticity. Pimienta’s family home is not a resort. There is no infinity pool, no butler service. But there is a rhythm here, a pulse that cannot be manufactured. The air smells of salt and fried plantains. Neighbours call out to each other across the dusty streets. This is where Pimienta wrote *Caribenya*, a record that marries lush orchestration with the raw energy of the dancefloor. It is a sound that cannot be streamed in high fidelity. You have to feel it in your bones.
The irony is not lost on her. “Being a billionaire is so tacky!” she laughs, and the hammock swings faster. She has seen what wealth does to a place. The same coastline that hosts private yacht parties and eco-resorts charging $2,000 a night is also the coastline where communities fight fracking and foreign interference. Pimienta’s music is a direct response to that tension. Her 2025 album *La Belleza* took classical music to task, challenging record stores to stop shelving her under “world music” as if her art were a souvenir. Now, *Caribenya* dares you to dance while thinking. It is a rare thing: protest music that makes you move.
What does this mean for the discerning traveler? It means that the next great luxury is not a suite at a five-star hotel. It is access—to a person, a place, a moment before it is packaged and sold. Pimienta’s story is a reminder that the Colombian coast is not just a backdrop for Instagram. It is a living, breathing entity, shaped by centuries of exploitation and resilience. The wealthy have long come here for the beaches. The truly curious come for the stories.
Where do the ultra-wealthy go next? They go where the art is made, not where it is displayed. They go to the hammock in the courtyard, to the neighbour’s kitchen, to the dancehall where the bass line rattles the windows. They go to hear Lido Pimienta sing about class struggle while the waves crash in the distance. That is the new luxury: proximity to the real. And it is worth more than any private island.
Pimienta won the Polaris Prize in 2017, beating Leonard Cohen’s final album. She is 39 years old, and she is not done fighting. “People tell me I have the best voice but that I’m ruining my career by always singing about politics,” she says. She smiles. The hammock stills. “What is the point of a voice if you cannot use it?” The question is not rhetorical. It is an invitation. Pack your bags. Go to Colombia. Listen.
