Most musicians with a residency do it the Vegas way. Glitter, pyrotechnics, and a revolving door of tourists clutching overpriced cocktails. Not Bad Bunny. His 30-night residency, No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí, is unfolding not in Sin City, but in San Juan. Not for the world, but for Puerto Rico.
From the opening weekend, it was clear this wasn’t just a concert. It was a communion. On July 11, the Coliseo de Puerto Rico filled with locals—not influencers or tourists, but the people who raised him—for the first of nine shows reserved exclusively for island residents. Benito walked onstage beneath a mountain-shaped stage, surrounded by dancers in jíbaro dress and live barriles pounding out bomba rhythms. Then he debuted a new song. Not a hit. Not a remix. Something no one had heard before.
“Alambre Púa” (“Barbed Wire”) is thorny and romantic. It’s lusty, regretful, and Puerto Rican to its core—melding electronic textures with traditional percussion, conjuring the past through sound and the future through form. The accompanying music video begins on what looks like a beach, only to reveal a constructed soundstage under the glowing words: No me quiero ir de aquí. I don’t want to leave here. It’s the emotional thesis of the entire residency.
If you’ve been paying attention, you know Bad Bunny’s not interested in the typical arc of pop stardom. He’s skipping a U.S. tour—for now—and going deep instead of wide. The residency in Puerto Rico runs through September, followed by dates across Latin America, Spain, and a few far-flung cities where he doesn’t speak the language and doesn’t have to. The message is clear: global can mean grounded.
Inside the show, that grounding is literal. The visuals highlight the island’s rolling hills, flora, and architecture. Each concert features a simulated house party at a replica casita, with set pieces crafted by Puerto Rican designers and architects. One moment Benito is delivering a protest anthem from atop a stylized mountain; the next, he’s crooning love songs beneath a flamboyán tree. Throughout the setlist—more than 30 songs per night—he threads politics with pop, protest with perreo.
Between songs, a screen flashes facts: “Puerto Rico is an archipelago, not just an island.” “San Juan is one of the oldest cities in the Americas.” “Puerto Rico is an unincorporated territory of the United States, but it has its own flag, culture, and identity.” The show is an education disguised as a party. It doesn’t pander. It reminds.
All of this comes on the heels of DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS, his nostalgic, genre-warping album from earlier this year. That title—”I Should Have Taken More Photos”—feels less like a regret and more like a dare: to look closely, to document, to remember. This residency is the live version of that impulse. A spectacle that asks the audience to bear witness and take it personally.
It’s working. Hotels are sold out. Lyft is offering ride discounts. Tourism agencies are reporting record demand. Economists estimate the residency could generate over $200 million in local economic impact—and they say that might be conservative. Benito isn’t just performing; he’s circulating money, attention, and cultural capital on his own terms.
And yet, there’s nothing self-congratulatory about it. At one point during the first night, Bad Bunny paused mid-show. Just stood there, quietly, smiling at the crowd. He looked like someone who couldn’t quite believe the moment he was in—and maybe didn’t want to. Later, he asked the audience to put down their phones during “Veldá” to live it with him. Most of them did. It’s a small moment, but it captures the point: this residency is personal. Not curated for virality. Not calibrated for press. Just real. Just here.
And while much of the world is watching from the outside—crying FOMO, scrolling TikToks, begging for tour dates—the point is that this isn’t for them. Not yet. The man who’s redefined international superstardom without singing a word in English isn’t interested in leaving home. Not until he’s finished building something here.
Ask him why he’s doing all this—for whom, to what end—and the answer is already on the marquee: No me quiero ir de aquí.
He’s not leaving. He’s standing right here.
