{"next":"https://legacy-api.kexp.org/v1/play/?format=json&limit=20&offset=42380","previous":"https://legacy-api.kexp.org/v1/play/?format=json&limit=20&offset=42340","results":[{"playid":3612374,"playtype":{"playtypeid":4,"name":"Air break"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:29:00Z","epoch_airdate":1770089340000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770089340000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":null,"release":null,"releaseevent":null,"track":null,"label":null,"comments":[],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612372,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:26:07Z","epoch_airdate":1770089167000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770089167000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":2016603742,"name":"Control Machete","islocal":false},"release":{"releaseid":1495475492,"name":"Mucho barato…","largeimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/8748d883-3d60-4acb-a160-50943dee85bc/44206531934-500.jpg","smallimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/8748d883-3d60-4acb-a160-50943dee85bc/44206531934-250.jpg"},"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":1960008763,"year":1996},"track":{"trackid":1765687194,"name":"¿Comprendes, Mendes?"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":208114763,"text":"“¿Comprendes, Mendes?” is one of the most iconic tracks by Control Machete, the Mexican hip-hop trio formed in 1995 by Fermín IV, Pato Machete, and DJ Toy Selectah that helped usher rap en español into mainstream Latin music in the late ’90s. The song was released in 1997 as part of their breakthrough album Mucho Barato and quickly became a standout hit, drawing attention across Mexico and Latin America for its raw energy and aggressive lyrical delivery.\n\nMusically, the track blends gritty hip-hop beats with sharp, declarative verses that assert confidence and command respect, often framed as a direct challenge to an opponent named “Mendes.” The repetition of the phrase “¿Me comprendes, Mendes?” (“Do you understand me, Mendes?”) gives the song a confrontational, self-assured tone that resonated with listeners and reflected the streetwise attitude of the era’s burgeoning Spanish-language rap scene.\n\nMore than just a rap song, “¿Comprendes, Mendes?” helped define a generation of Latin hip-hop and remains a classic of the genre, celebrated for its influence and enduring popularity.\n\nWatch on YouTube:\nhttps://youtu.be/xLrW4IcPiWw"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612371,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:23:14Z","epoch_airdate":1770088994000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770088994000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":1256689984,"name":"Diabbla","islocal":false},"release":{"releaseid":1941273494,"name":"Les Falta Callo","largeimageuri":null,"smallimageuri":null},"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":1966703636,"year":2025},"track":{"trackid":1627948005,"name":"Les Falta Callo"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":332927062,"text":"“Les Falta Callo” is built around a classic premise—calling out pretenders—but it lands because it’s delivered with conviction and timing. The title itself is a flex: you don’t get respect by talking about pressure, you get it by carrying pressure. Diabbla’s approach reads as confrontational and self-assured, the kind of performance that treats the mic like a courtroom and a stage at the same time. The track’s impact depends on attitude as much as sonics; even without overloading the arrangement, the vocal presence keeps the energy up front. “Les Falta Callo” works best when you hear it as a boundary-setting anthem—less about generic bravado, more about establishing who’s really earned their voice in a scene. The tone suggests impatience with superficiality: no tolerance for soft posturing, no reward for empty noise. If you’re programming a set of songs that feel like adrenaline and truth-telling, this fits as a sharp, modern shot of disdain aimed upward. I am keeping this writeup focused on the song’s stance and delivery because verifiable public details about the track’s full background and credits are limited across major public pages. The record still communicates clearly: it’s a callout, and it doesn’t blink.\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/6soI61Gi5tdzpZfabzy8cn"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612370,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:17:18Z","epoch_airdate":1770088638000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770088638000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":730747927,"name":"The Neighborhood Kids","islocal":false},"release":{"releaseid":492216632,"name":"EVERY CHILD LEFT BEHIND","largeimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/b100c5a5-6a0c-4e1c-aafa-3284e5f9694c/41282912726-500.jpg","smallimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/b100c5a5-6a0c-4e1c-aafa-3284e5f9694c/41282912726-250.jpg"},"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":1962630910,"year":2023},"track":{"trackid":1076728330,"name":"KIDS IN THE CAGES"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":1205764715,"text":"“KIDS IN THE CAGES” is protest music that refuses to be polite. The Neighborhood Kids deliver a direct indictment of cruelty—focused on immigration enforcement and the human cost of policies that treat families like collateral. The power of the track is its clarity: the hook is memorable, the language is straightforward, and the anger is disciplined rather than chaotic. Musically, it leans into hard-hitting hip-hop fundamentals—rhythms built for marching, verses that escalate, and a cadence designed to land lines like blows. What makes it resonate beyond a slogan is how it frames dignity and labor: the song confronts the contradiction of a society that depends on immigrant work while criminalizing immigrant lives. That perspective gives the track moral weight without turning it into a lecture; the message stays embodied, delivered in a voice that sounds like it comes from community, not commentary. The urgency is also emotional: outrage, grief, and defiance sit on top of each other, and the song doesn’t ask for sympathy—it demands accountability. “KIDS IN THE CAGES” is built for chanting in the street and for replaying alone when you’re trying to keep your nerves from going numb. It’s a rallying cry with real teeth.\u2028Listen: https://theneighborhoodkids.bandcamp.com/"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612369,"playtype":{"playtypeid":4,"name":"Air break"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:14:29Z","epoch_airdate":1770088469000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770088469000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":null,"release":null,"releaseevent":null,"track":null,"label":null,"comments":[],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612368,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:12:20Z","epoch_airdate":1770088340000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770088340000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":1911929141,"name":"Lost Acapulco","islocal":false},"release":{"releaseid":752533386,"name":"4","largeimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/125bde97-95cb-4acd-9296-099b5897f571/12087365763-500.jpg","smallimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/125bde97-95cb-4acd-9296-099b5897f571/12087365763-250.jpg"},"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":1609622717,"year":1998},"track":{"trackid":953631430,"name":"¡A huevo!"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":2143470365,"text":"“A Huevo!” is pure propulsion—instrumental surf rock that doesn’t rely on vocals because the guitars do all the talking. Lost Acapulco build the track like a chase scene: rapid-fire picking, twang that cuts like bright sunlight on metal, and a rhythm section that keeps everything sprinting forward. The tone is classic surf—reverb, bite, and swagger—but the attitude is unmistakably local and rowdy, the kind of energy that belongs as much to a sweaty club as it does to a beach fantasy. The title reads like a punchline and a challenge, and the music follows through: it’s confident, fast, and slightly reckless in the best way. What makes “A Huevo!” work is how tight it stays under speed; the band doesn’t smear into noise, they stay locked—riffs are clean, transitions are sharp, and the groove remains danceable even at high velocity. It’s the sound of an instrumental band understanding that hooks still matter: melodic leads repeat with just enough variation to keep you chasing them. If you want surf rock with grit—less postcard, more street-level adrenaline—this track delivers.\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/4dTI3LQvbANKwDqGwT5qKA"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612367,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:08:44Z","epoch_airdate":1770088124000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770088124000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":1470098679,"name":"Los Esquizitos","islocal":false},"release":{"releaseid":1470098679,"name":"Los Esquizitos","largeimageuri":null,"smallimageuri":null},"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":248886088,"year":1998},"track":{"trackid":415028314,"name":"Santo y Lunave"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":841267844,"text":"“Santo y Lunave” feels like surf-punk viewed through a cracked TV screen—campy, frantic, and strangely poetic. Los Esquizitos take the iconography of lucha libre and pulp sci-fi and turn it into a narrative that’s equal parts comic and bleak: El Santo as a stranded hero, hunger and oxygen running out, myth collapsing into survival. The music mirrors that mood with speed and abrasion—guitars that jangle and bite, drums that push the song forward like it’s trying to outrun its own story. Even when the track leans into humor, there’s an undertow of desperation, and that contrast is where it hits. The band’s charm is irreverence with craft: they can sprint, but they still land hooks; they can get weird, but the structure holds. “Santo y Lunave” also captures a specific kind of underground imagination—one that treats Mexican pop culture as a universe of symbols worth remixing, not just referencing. It’s a song that sounds like a zine collage: fast cuts, bold outlines, and emotional sincerity hiding behind mischief. If you like punk that laughs while bleeding—this is it, and it sticks.\u2028Listen: https://losesquizitos.bandcamp.com/track/02-santo-y-lunave"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612366,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:04:57Z","epoch_airdate":1770087897000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770087897000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":1672328062,"name":"Panteón Rococó","islocal":false},"release":{"releaseid":324792716,"name":"A la izquierda de la Tierra","largeimageuri":null,"smallimageuri":null},"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":1691617734,"year":1999},"track":{"trackid":98873619,"name":"La dosis perfecta"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":1964291580,"text":"“La Dosis Perfecta” is one of those songs that proves why ska can hold both celebration and heartbreak in the same breath. Panteón Rococó fuse bright horn lines and dancefloor momentum with lyrics that ache—longing framed as something physical, necessary, almost medicinal. The groove is built to move bodies, but the emotion underneath is restless: a push-pull between wanting to let go and needing to hold on. That tension is the song’s engine. The arrangement uses classic ska dynamics—upstroke guitars, punchy brass hits, and a rhythm section that bounces without losing weight—while the vocal performance keeps the narrative grounded and human. It’s romantic without being soft, dramatic without being theatrical, and it never forgets the crowd: the hook is designed for thousands of voices, not solitary listening. Part of the song’s longevity is its clarity; it speaks in plain language, but the feeling is complicated—regret, desire, and stubborn hope braided together. “La Dosis Perfecta” also shows Panteón Rococó’s wider identity: music tied to community, a band that can turn intimacy into a collective chant. You hear it and immediately understand why it’s endured as an anthem.\u2028Listen: https://open.spotify.com/track/5bymCzswBkt0deeD1hlTIq"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612365,"playtype":{"playtypeid":4,"name":"Air break"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:02:50Z","epoch_airdate":1770087770000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770087770000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":null,"release":null,"releaseevent":null,"track":null,"label":null,"comments":[],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612364,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:01:32Z","epoch_airdate":1770087692000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770087692000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":248566392,"name":"Presidentes Muertos","islocal":false},"release":null,"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":498567787,"year":null},"track":{"trackid":1136375885,"name":"Demoler"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":428980085,"text":"“Demoler” is a cover, and Presidentes Muertos treat that fact like a weapon. Instead of polishing the original into nostalgia, they play it as if the song is still dangerous—still capable of starting a fight in the street or inside your own head. The performance is compact and impatient: guitars slash through the mix, the drums keep the pace militant, and the vocal delivery prioritizes force over comfort. What makes this version compelling is how naturally it fits the band’s world; it doesn’t sound like a detour, it sounds like an ancestral thread being pulled into the present. Covers can sometimes feel like a costume, but “Demoler” feels like an inheritance—an old chant revived with fresh bruises. The arrangement stays direct, avoiding unnecessary flourishes, as if the band’s goal is demolition in the literal and emotional sense: break down what’s stale, what’s fake, what’s imposed. It’s also a smart curatorial move—choosing a song with a title that doubles as an instruction, then performing it with the conviction to make it believable. The result is punk that moves fast, hits clean, and leaves a little rubble behind.\u2028Listen: https://presidentesmuertos.bandcamp.com/album/de-cuerpos-y-pueblos"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612363,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T03:00:53Z","epoch_airdate":1770087653000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770087653000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":248566392,"name":"Presidentes Muertos","islocal":false},"release":null,"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":498567787,"year":null},"track":{"trackid":309921927,"name":"E.Z.L.N."},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":1514972169,"text":"“E.Z.L.N.” lands like a flare shot into the night: short, sharp, and loaded with intent. Presidentes Muertos operate in the tradition of punk as a pressure valve—songs that don’t “build” so much as detonate. The track’s extreme brevity makes every second count: a compact burst of distortion and urgency where rhythm drives the message as much as any lyric. The title alone evokes organized resistance and collective memory, and the band leans into that weight with a delivery that feels confrontational rather than decorative. There’s no wasted motion—riffs are stripped to the bone, percussion pushes forward, and the arrangement stays tight, as if it’s trying to outrun complacency. “E.Z.L.N.” works less like a single and more like a slogan you can shout with your chest: direct, unromantic, and emotionally specific. If you’re drawn to punk that treats politics as lived experience—something that scars, motivates, and demands—this track fits. It’s a reminder that sometimes the most effective statement is the one that refuses to overexplain itself, and simply hits hard enough to be remembered.\u2028Listen: https://presidentesmuertos.bandcamp.com/track/e-z-l-n"}],"showid":65825},{"playid":3612362,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T02:56:28Z","epoch_airdate":1770087388000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770087388000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":1098579412,"name":"Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway","islocal":false},"release":{"releaseid":1098579412,"name":"Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway","largeimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/edcd299b-5e89-45bd-8204-b77c8e5b613e/8661278568-500.jpg","smallimageuri":"https://coverartarchive.org/release/edcd299b-5e89-45bd-8204-b77c8e5b613e/8661278568-250.jpg"},"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":63725517,"year":1972},"track":{"trackid":1032179407,"name":"Be Real Black for Me"},"label":{"labelid":1834846595,"name":"Atlantic"},"comments":[{"commentid":424240820,"text":"\"Everything about this song is healing. The healing songs, for me, and the songs that speak to justice, are the songs that celebrate love, not in some weird, vacuous way, not in some way that says, “People should just love each other and the world will get better.” No, I’m talking about love as work — love as real, internal work, external work and labor.\" Read a tribute to his song: https://tidal.com/magazine/article/flack-hathaway-black-for-me/1-73910"}],"showid":65824},{"playid":3612359,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T02:52:53Z","epoch_airdate":1770087173000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770087173000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":1254105050,"name":"Leon Thomas","islocal":false},"release":null,"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":1433229598,"year":2025},"track":{"trackid":1369431746,"name":"Song for My Father (Middle Sky Boom Edit)"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":1360797881,"text":"https://unterman.bandcamp.com/track/leon-thomas-song-for-my-father-middle-sky-boom-edit"}],"showid":65824},{"playid":3612358,"playtype":{"playtypeid":4,"name":"Air break"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T02:48:47Z","epoch_airdate":1770086927000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770086927000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":null,"release":null,"releaseevent":null,"track":null,"label":null,"comments":[],"showid":65824},{"playid":3612357,"playtype":{"playtypeid":1,"name":"Media play"},"airdate":"2026-02-03T02:42:54Z","epoch_airdate":1770086574000,"epoch_airdate_v2":"/Date(1770086574000)/","archive_urls":{"32":null,"64":null,"128":null,"256":null},"artist":{"artistid":1670599527,"name":"Aris Kokou","islocal":false},"release":null,"releaseevent":{"releaseeventid":498567787,"year":null},"track":{"trackid":836943643,"name":"Phenomenal Woman"},"label":null,"comments":[{"commentid":742059900,"text":"feat. 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