Vivir Quintana’s new album ‘Cosas que Sorprenden a la Audiencia’ uses corridos to tell the stories of women jailed for killing their abusers in Mexico.
Before Vivir Quintana ever stepped onto a stage in glittering boots, she was slipping through the razor wire of a women’s prison to bear witness to stories few dared to tell. Her new album, Cosas que Sorprenden a la Audiencia (Things That Surprise the Audience), is not just another set of tracks—it’s a corrido-powered court of conscience.
Over ten ballads, Quintana channels the voices of women jailed for killing their abusers, recasting a male-dominated, often violent genre into an urgent plea for justice and beauty in the face of brutality. This is music as testimony, born of childhood memories of northern Mexican ballads and a lifetime of feminist anthems, now wielded to challenge the glorification of violence and affirm that every woman—even those behind bars—has the right to art, dignity and joy.
Behind the Bars: The Making of Cosas que Sorprenden a la Audiencia
Two days before its official release on April 24, 2025, Quintana found herself behind barbed wire at a women’s prison in Mexico City, gathering firsthand accounts from inmates convicted of killing their attackers in acts of self-defense. Over a decade of visits, these encounters became the heartbeat of an album “not made to sell, but to change minds,” as Quintana herself puts it, donning her signature red boots and gray-streaked hair to remind listeners that art can be a weapon against injustice.
Rewriting Corridos: From Narco to Narrative
Corridos have long been a double-edged sword in Mexican culture—ballads glorifying drug lords and machismo on one side, folkloric tales on the other. Quintana seizes this form, flipping narco-glorification on its head to shine a light on gender-based violence and a justice system that often blames the victim.
Instead of bans, even President Claudia Sheinbaum has proposed promoting corridos that avoid celebrating drugs or misogyny, recognizing that “prohibiting them is not an option” and that people need “another vision” of the genre.
Stories of Survival: From Roxana Ruiz to Yakiri Rubio
“Era Él o Era Yo (It Was Either Him or Me)” tells the harrowing tale of Roxana Ruiz, sentenced to six years for defending herself against a rapist in 2021. “This isn’t justice,” Ruiz protested after her conviction, highlighting the absurdity of punishing a survivor.
Another track recounts the ordeal of 14-year-old Tabasco native who killed her father to protect her mother, while “corridos” echo the ordeal of Yakiri Rubio, kidnapped and raped before fatally defending herself—only to face charges of “excessive legitimate self-defense”.
The Heart of a Corrido: Memory, Femicide, and Music
Quintana’s fascination with corridos began at age 5, when she first heard the tragic ballad of Rosita Alvírez on family radios and dance-hall speakers in Coahuila, Mexico. Years later, the femicide of her best friend at age 15 etched the brutality of those lyrics into her soul, driving her to reclaim the form for women’s voices.
From Debut to Anthem: A Musical Journey
Her debut album Te mereces un amor (You Deserve a Love) showcased a seamless blend of folk, regional and ranchera traditions, hinting at the emotional depth she would later bring to feminist protest songs. In 2020, she co-penned “Canción Sin Miedo,” which exploded into an anthem for Mexico’s Women’s Day marches and Latin American feminism.
Recognition followed: named a Spotify EQUAL ambassador and lauded by Forbes among the 100 most creative Mexicans, Quintana stands as “one of the most recognized female figures in Mexico,” according to Rolling Stone, and was honored at the Latin Grammys as a Leading Lady of Entertainment.
Changing Minds, Changing Culture
Quintana’s corridos are more than songs—they’re rallying cries. By foregrounding survivors of gender violence, she forces listeners to confront the absurdity of “excessive legitimate self-defense” charges that imprison victims.
Her mission? To remind the world that “they have the right to music, the right to art, and more than anything, the right to beauty”—even, perhaps especially, when they’re locked behind bars.
As the final notes of Cosas que Sorprenden a la Audiencia fade, Quintana’s voice lingers: a testament that a corrido can be more than a tale of outlaw bravado—it can be a hymn of survival, a plea for reform, and a portal to empathy in a genre long dominated by men’s stories. In her hands, the corrido becomes a living archive of women’s resilience, forcing us all to listen—and to change.
source AP News
