Willie Colon, Icon of Nuyorican Music, Passes Away at 75

Willie Colon, an influential figure in Nuyorican music, activist, and former police officer, passed away at the age of 75. His departure on Saturday leaves a significant gap in the landscape of American music that can’t be easily filled.

Colon was a trailblazer in the salsa music genre, profoundly shaping Latin dance music for generations. Beyond his musical talents, which included singing, playing instruments, and producing, he was also a staunch civil rights advocate. Remarkably, at 64, he fulfilled a lifelong dream of becoming a law enforcement officer by enrolling in the police academy. He cultivated a tough persona well before rappers like Tupac popularized it, featuring on album covers that portrayed him in a gangster light—he made the trombone seem cool.

This week’s tributes will undoubtedly spotlight Colon’s musical contributions, his embodiment of a Bronx gangster, and how his music depicted aspects of America that are often overlooked in mainstream narratives. His values—such as American contrarianism, anti-communism, and a deep patriotism—shaped his legacy, even until the end.

Born in the South Bronx in 1950, Colon immersed himself in music early on, signing with Fania Records at just 15. His debut album, El Malo (“The Bad Guy”), was released the following year.

Fania Records was a hub of collaboration, and Colon was a key player—writing, producing, and supporting many fellow artists. He’s perhaps best remembered for his collaborations with legendary Puerto Rican singer Hector Lavoe and Panamanian artist Rubén Blades, especially for the album Siembra, often heralded as a milestone in salsa music. The standout track, “Pedro Navaja,” tells a grim tale of crime in New York City, showcasing Colon’s knack for storytelling through music.

Colon’s time at Fania in the 1970s solidified his reputation in salsa music, characterized by rich trumpet sections, layered African rhythms, and distinct percussion that became iconic. While its roots are Caribbean, it was in New York where salsa truly flourished.

In the vibrant 1970s, Colon and other Puerto Rican musicians began collaborating with exiled Cubans, Dominican artists, and more, crafting a sound reflective of their shared struggles and experiences. The genre’s fusion of Caribbean influences and lyrics addressing the working-class realities in the Bronx defined salsa music’s essence.

Beyond music, Colon was an outspoken political commentator. He positioned himself as a voice for personal freedom and supported law enforcement and the idea of Puerto Rican statehood—not the independence route. Notably, he joined as a Democrat but held numerous views that might surprise today’s party line. One of his noteworthy songs, “El Gran Varon,” is often regarded as an anthem for transgender rights, reflecting various societal issues.

Years into his career, he expressed reluctant support for then-candidate Donald Trump, calling it the “least bad” option amid a challenging election landscape. “I’d rather not vote for Hillary than not vote for him,” he shared at the time, acknowledging some harsh remarks Trump made about Latinos.

By 2020, his views had shifted markedly, and he appeared quite content with Trump’s presidency, celebrating his policies while openly critiquing art and artists who leaned to the left. Colon’s late criticism of Bad Bunny during the Super Bowl halftime show hinted at the complexities of his character—he was unapologetically American, even in the face of changing cultural tides.

Colon’s legacy is marked not just by his musical achievements but also by his unabashed individuality and willingness to voice unconventional opinions. He leaves behind a rich history of collaboration and artistry, merging political courage with musical innovation.

His influence on salsa music is indelible, and the narratives he pushed through his work will resonate for years to come. Colon didn’t just adapt to the world around him; he often shaped it, challenging norms in a unique way.