No Narcocorridos but All Eyes Were on Peso Pluma and Junior H at Coachella

A red, white, and green banner lit up the screens at Coachella as Junior H walked onto the main stage and roared into the mic: “¡Viva México, cabrones!” It was not a set built on provocation. It was built on pride.

On Sunday, April 13, the singer delivered a performance that nodded to his roots while steering clear of the narco themes that once carved a path through his genre. It was a night of controlled resistance, of reframing what it means to represent regional Mexican music on one of the most visible stages in the world.

Junior H brought out collaborators Peso Pluma and Tito Double P in a show that marked a shift. No narcocorridos. No chaos. Only sound, rhythm, and the new face of Sad Boys music. Peso Pluma’s arrival onstage was met with wild cheers as they performed “Luna” and “Disfruto lo Malo,” both featured on Peso’s album Génesis. Tito Double P joined him earlier for “5-7,” adding to a setlist that moved through tracks like “Mientras Duermes,” “Rockstar,” “La Cherry,” “Las Noches,” and “Y Lloro.”

Peso Pluma and the Power of Presence on Junior H’s Stage

The moment was heavy with meaning. Peso Pluma has become a symbol of what this music is, and what it is no longer allowed to be. His presence onstage was not casual. It was a signal. “Necesitamos estar más unidos que nunca,” he told the crowd. Junior H responded with, “Que vivan los corridos.”

No one mentioned narcocorridos by name, but everyone knew what was left unsaid.

Their duet did not include “El Azul,” the song that originally brought the two artists together in the minds of many fans. The omission wasn’t accidental. According to Rolling Stone, Coachella’s curators and the artists themselves avoided references to organized crime, aware of the scrutiny from both sides of the border.

Art on the Defensive

Only two days earlier, Luis R. Conríquez was booed off stage in Texcoco for refusing to perform narcocorridos. Under pressure from the State of Mexico, he complied with new guidelines discouraging lyrics that mention drug lords or glorify violence. Attendees trashed the venue in protest, hurling objects and smashing instruments.

Claudia Sheinbaum, the president of Mexico, insists corridos are not banned. But in her own words, the government intends to promote music “without violence.” Her administration’s support of initiatives like México Canta, a contest geared toward young, binational talent, is part of that effort.

Across the border, the U.S. has ramped up its own pressure. More than 800 visas have reportedly been revoked this year alone, including that of Los Alegres del Barranco after the group projected an image of “El Mencho,” the CJNG leader, during a concert in Jalisco.

Peso Pluma, Natanael Cano, Grupo Arriesgado, and others now find themselves on a list of artists potentially affected by these immigration policies. Secretary of State Marco Rubio and Deputy Secretary Christopher Landau have made it clear: “No red carpet will be rolled out for those who glorify criminals or terrorists.”

Critics are pushing back. Advocacy groups and academic institutions argue that these actions amount to censorship. That silencing music—whether you agree with its message or not—threatens freedom of expression. As one critic put it, “We have rappers and singers here in the U.S. who talk about killing cops or drug trafficking. Many songs talk about worse, and no action is taken against them.”

In that context, Junior H’s performance felt deliberate. His decision to bring out Peso Pluma wasn’t about spectacle. It was about reclaiming the conversation. The lyrics may have changed, but the spotlight now shines on something much bigger than the music. It shines on the right to create without being criminalized.