Ricky Martin’s self titled album is 25 years old! Holy ghost pepper salsa!
Yes, you remember it as a fiesta for your ears (and your inner Shakira). And no, we all know you didn’t buy this album for the groundbreaking lyrics or the subtle musical nuances. You bought it for one reason and one reason only: to unleash your inner Ricky Martin and shake your bonbon like it’s 1999.
And that, my friends, is exactly what this album delivers. It’s a glorious explosion of sugary pop beats, enough “oh yeah yeah”s to make you question your vocabulary, and enough Latin flair to make your furniture spontaneously salsa.
Here’s what you can expect as you live loca…
Workout anthems: You’ll be sweating guaracha before the first chorus is over. These songs are basically cardio in music form.
Love songs so cheesy they’re lactose intolerant: Prepare for lyrics that will make Hallmark blush. But hey, sometimes you just want to sing about a love that burns hotter than a habanero pepper, right?
Enough hip shaking to cause a minor earthquake: Ricky hasn’t lost a step in the hip movement department. This album comes with a free chiropractic adjustment warning because you’re gonna throw your back out trying to mimic his moves.
Is it critically acclaimed? Probably not.
Did it win any awards for musical innovation? No!
And we didn’t care because it made us want to throw on a questionable shirt from Cancun, grab our maracas and sing along at the top of your lungs.
So, if you’re looking for an album that takes itself way too seriously, this ain’t it. But if you want to have a fiesta for your ears and a mambo for your soul, then drop the needle on this bad boy and prepare to get your Ricky Martin on!
You know you want to:
