Prado, aka Benita Prado, got her start as a musician at age 14 with the aid of GarageBand and a guitar gifted to her by her uncle. When her SoundCloud page began to draw attention from high profile artists and producers (including the OWSLA crew), she began to quietly ghostwrite for a few big-name rappers. “No one knew who I was, they just knew me as AlienKanye,” says Prado of her early online persona. Fast forward to 2019 – Prado is now 20 and moving closer towards the spotlight as she readies the release of her debut EP.
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Step inside these resilient DIY spaces in Vancouver
In a transient city like Vancouver, Canada these artists are fighting to find their space and make their music.
Prado’s sound is unapologetically dynamic, which can be best illustrated after examining her portfolio of musical influences and eclectic taste. “When I first started playing guitar, my mom wanted me to play classic rock. I did that for a while, but now I’m really just doing my own thing,” she says. Songs like “Likeline” remain tied to traditional hip-hop sounds, featuring genre classic high-hats, paired with the lyric tonality and rhythm of Kali Uchis-esqu sensual pop. With pitch bends and tones that appear in between notes, Prado pulls off the unlikely pairing of R&B with the dreamy resonance of Mac Demarco, fiercely testing the bounds of genres. With an insightful ear, Prado has successfully reformulated some of the best moments of today's music in her own way. Her lyrics remain a true reflection of her strongest personality traits – vulnerable and fearless.
The paralyzing housing crisis in Vancouver is a situation that Prado and her family have combatted with hard work, a little elbow grease and creativity. Sandwiched between the suburbs and the bustling metropolis of Vancouver’s downtown sits the neighbourhood of Joyce/Renfrew. This is both where Prado grew up and where her creative multipurpose space stands as part of a co-op, which features a dance and recording studio. The East Vancouver neighbourhood may not be known as a creative mecca, but for Prado, that’s besides the point. Her studio is a platform for reclaiming space outside of gentrified creative areas. “That's where I went to school,” she says, pointing at her high school with boarded-up windows, which as part of province-wide funding cuts, is currently closed. “I was walking my dog around there the other day and they were mowing the lawn and doing all of this [landscaping]. I thought to myself 'damn, that has to be the nicest I’ve ever seen it',” she says laughing. “This area is strange because there are a lot of empty buildings. The studio was even [vacant] for a long time,” she remembers of the reclaimed space in her co-op.
After approaching the strata members of her co-op, Prado began the process of creating the space where her, her sister Zuleyma and members of the public could teach, create and produce creative work. “We reached an agreement with the property management. That was a year of paperwork and a year-long process.” Prior to the takeover, the building sat as a bleak office and amenities room. With the help of her mom and Zuleyma, her family did all of the construction for the studio themselves, including removing flooring from a previous dance studio. “We literally had to go and take them out of there. They said, ‘you can keep the floors if you take them out,’ so we took them all out, brought them here and re-did the floors.”
Prado is highly critical of the music industry. When examining pop culture today through the lens of its marketability, Prado is weary of others' intentions when examining the narrative of diversity. “My blackness isn’t an opportunity for your struggle story. We ain’t got no time for the struggle. We’ve got shit to do,” states Prado. According to Prado, it’s time for us to step away from these narratives and focus on the bigger picture – creating and generating coverage that genuinely supports all creatives. “I wonder why these are the stories that keep being told. Why aren’t there stories of people killing it?”
Prado explains that the tokenization and sheer enormity of struggle story coverage is especially damaging for creatives of colour. It’s something that further perpetuates the POC feeling of “other,” while communicating to young creatives of colour that their destined role in the creative space is one of struggle and hardship, instead of a possible future of success to be celebrated. “I have seen about ten of these articles this year and not one of them even mentions the music. Not a word about the actual content. It’s backwards. Plain and simple. I don't understand how much awareness can really do. It's like payment in exposure. It don't make 'cents' Here’s where I direct everyone to my Twitter if you wanna be educated more about this issue, I tweet about it all the time.”
“You know, [my story] may seem like a struggle for others, but for me, this is just my life,” says Prado. Like so many strong women of colour before her, Prado is paving her way to stardom, reclaiming and taking up the space she needs to express herself. “I know I was born for this,” she says with a smile. “Everyone needs an outlet, but I’m not here to hold anyone’s hand. People need to stop expecting things are going to happen for them, and they need to get out there and make those things happen [...] Create opportunities for yourself, because at the end of the day, no one is going to do that for you.”