Thirty years into their career, Panteón Rococó stands as one of Mexico’s most enduring musical exports. Born in the shadow of the 1994 Zapatista uprising, their blend of ska, rock, salsa, mariachi, reggae, and punk carved out a sound as eclectic as the country itself. What began in small bars and school gigs in Mexico City’s Gustavo A. Madero borough has evolved into a cultural force, marked by four sold-out nights at Foro Sol, tours across Europe and the Americas, and a discography filled with anthems like “La Carencia” and “La Dosis Perfecta.”
Yet what truly defines them is not only their music but their insistence on autonomy. “Democracy within the band has brought significant stability,” Bassist Dario Espinosa told CREMA. “Each musician has one vote, decisions are made by consensus, and even the music is credited to everyone, although there is always a main author. We have had many successes and mistakes working this way. We cannot say that we are a perfect group, but we have come this far largely thanks to this way of working.”
This commitment to shared decision-making has allowed the band to resist pressures that broke many of their peers.
Espinosa explained that independence has not been a straight line. “We started out independently at the beginning of Rococó, then we worked alongside a transnational record label and professional entertainment companies. This gave us a lot of experience, and we were then able to return to the independent path for many projects such as albums, videos, and concerts,” he said.
Independence, then, is not about isolation. “The most important and valuable thing is that from the beginning until today, we continue to rely on highly valuable external people who have the knowledge and enthusiasm to create new things for Panteón.” This flexible model—equal votes internally, strategic partnerships externally—has made them resilient in an industry notorious for devouring bands whole.
Panteón Rococó’s sound has always been inextricably linked to politics. Their history is deeply rooted in the EZLN movement, and their records, such as “Compañeros Musicales,” openly demonstrate solidarity with the struggle in Chiapas.
Asked how their activism has evolved, Espinosa reflected: “I can say that our music has inspired and served various causes. We are also inspired by bands such as Maldita Vecindad, Fabulosos Cadillacs, Tijuana No, and many more. And yes, I believe there is an evolution, not only musically but also ideologically, which is reflected in every new song we write.”
That evolution speaks to their place in Latin America’s broader protest music tradition. It is less about slogans than about staying present, connected, and reflective as the world shifts.
The band’s 30th anniversary tour took an unexpected turn when lead singer Dr. Shenka suffered a heart attack this summer. The scare forced them to pause shows and prioritize the health of their frontman. Espinosa admitted, “He gave us quite a scare, but we are very happy that he is now recovering, mainly because he is a Rococó brother, which is the most important thing. After 30 years, situations like this make you see life differently.”
Moments like this expose the fragility beneath the bravado of live performance. Yet they also highlight what has sustained Panteón Rococó for three decades: family, friendship, and the belief that music is a collective act of survival.
From their first demo tape, the band resisted labels. Espinosa put it simply: “Although they wanted to pigeonhole us into the ska style, they couldn’t quite do it. We love many styles, and each composition reflects the music we’ve listened to since we were kids.
Their new album “Sonoro,” out September 25, makes that point clear. Part of it was produced by Prince Fatty, a legendary British figure in the reggae and ska world, and part by KC Porter, one of Latin America’s most respected producers.
“Sonoro is loaded with ska, traditional ska,” Espinosa said, “and other songs are more like a ‘kaleidoscope’ with very varied rhythms such as funk, electronic, and rockabilly.”
The record is both a homecoming and, as Espinosa said, a kaleidoscope, a reminder that independence has allowed them to stretch without ever losing their core.
Selling out stadiums, filling plazas in Europe, and staying intact for thirty years give the band authority to speak to the next generation. But Espinosa tempers that authority with humility: “It’s not easy to give advice to new bands; we don’t know if our experiences are relevant to the current state of the music world, which is constantly evolving. It’s important to surround yourself with people who share a common vision of the path you will take as a band. That doesn’t guarantee success, but it will make whatever comes next more enjoyable.”
If anything, the lesson of Panteón Rococó is that joy, shared vision, and stubborn independence can outlast trends.
From a student collective in Mexico City to one of the few groups to ever sell out Foro Sol, Panteón Rococó embodies what it means to build longevity without surrendering vision. Their survival is not just musical. It is both political and cultural, and deeply personal. Three decades in, they are still creating, still agitating, playing with the urgency of youth but the wisdom of age.
As their new album “Sonoro” arrives and their tour resumes with Dr. Shenka’s recovery, their story feels less like a retrospective and more like a reminder: Panteón Rococó are still here, and they still have more to say.
