Uruguay’s candombe brings streets to life as the once-banned musical tradition roars back
Like the blues in the US, samba in Brazil, rumba in Cuba and plena in Puerto Rico, candombe, Uruguay’s Afro-descendent music, was once reviled, marginalised and even banned – but managed to endure. But while other such genres have for decades formed part of the cultural mainstream across the Americas, only now is candombe experiencing its peak.
A drone view of the Rueda de Candombe gathering in the streets of Ciudad Vieja in Montevideo, Uruguay. Once confined to the Black neighbourhoods of the capital, Montevideo, candombe groups have spread to every region of the South American country of 3.5 million people, 10% of whom identify as Afro-Uruguayan. One Montevideo group, Rueda de Candombe, has been drawing up to 2,000 people every Monday to listen to a repertory that is entirely national and rooted in the Afro-Uruguayan rhythm. “I think we are at a turning point,” said Claudio Martínez, 47, one of the group’s singers and percussionists.
Claudio Martínez, a drummer of the Rueda de Candombe, performs at Sala de Naciones La Calenda in Montevideo. The session was part of a special event hosted by Jorge Drexler to film a music video and preview his new material.
Rueda de Candombe began performing in a bar about a year ago, but as audiences grew, the city council moved it to Plaza España, a public square. “It’s a tremendously meaningful place,” said Martínez.
Members of the Lonjas de Ciudad Vieja comparsa prepare their costumes and instruments before the start of the Corso de la Ciudad Vieja in Montevideo.
In the 18th and 19th centuries, it was only in the secrecy of homes or at a handful of authorised parades that Africans and their descendants were able to play their drums. One way to escape complaints from neighbours was to practise just outside the city wall – very close to where Rueda de Candombe now performs. Martínez said: “It’s crazy, because when you look around, you realise that in this very place we’re dancing, singing and enjoying ourselves with some of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those who were denouncing us from inside the walls.” Candombe’s newfound popularity is such that one of Uruguay’s biggest singers, Jorge Drexler – the first Latin American artist to win an Oscar for best original song, in 2005 – has made it the protagonist of his new album, Taracá, due for release on 12 March. Rueda de Candombe features on three tracks, and the genre’s rhythms run through much of the album, including Ante la duda, baila (If in doubt, dance), which describes how, in 1807, Uruguayan authorities banned candombe: “They considered it a lewd and impure dance / for the way it moved the hips.”
Uruguayan singer-songwriter Jorge Drexler sings with musicians and performers during a Rueda de Candombe session at Sala de Naciones La Calenda in Montevideo. The gathering was part of a special event hosted by Drexler to film a music video and preview his new material.
Drexler, 61 – who describes himself as aficionado of candombe, not an expert – said the rhythm “is a trance, a spiritual tool” and that, “in a world in which polarisation is only getting worse, candombe has the ability to build bridges between people”. He continued: “Candombe has expanded enormously in recent years, which makes me very happy, because I grew up in a country where it was looked at with profound discrimination.”
Drexler hosts an exclusive track-by-track preview of his upcoming album, Taracá, at Elefante Blanco studio in Montevideo. Candombe emerged from the more than 200,000 enslaved Africans sent to Uruguay during 250 years of slavery, most of them from central Africa. Its name is believed to derive from the Bantu language family and was roughly used at the time to denote something “of Black people”.
Performers from the Lonjas de Ciudad Vieja comparsa dance to candombe music, during the Corso de la Ciudad Vieja in Montevideo.
The public interacts with the Lonjas de Ciudad Vieja comparsa playing and dancing candombe during the Corso de la Ciudad Vieja. Its spelling closely resembles that of candomblé, the Afro-Brazilian religion, but although Uruguayan drum gatherings had religious elements, candombe is not a faith. It occasionally incorporates other instruments, such as an acoustic guitar or accordion, but it is primarily defined by the use of three drums: piano, chico and repique.
Performers from the Lonjas de Ciudad Vieja comparsa dance to candombe music during the Corso de la Ciudad Vieja in Montevideo.
“They each have a distinctive sound that corresponds to the human voice,” said the researcher, writer and artist Tomás Olivera Chirimini. “That is why candombe can be defined as a dialogue between ‘human’ voices.” Despite the ban, candombe gradually gained broader acceptance within Uruguayan society, particularly thanks to artists such as Rubén Rada. It was granted protection under national law in 2006 and, in 2009, was recognised by Unesco as an intangible cultural heritage of humanity.
Drummers from the Lonjas de Ciudad Vieja comparsa perform during the Corso de la Ciudad Vieja. Chirimini said: “And here we are now, in 2026, with candombe – which was born in a tiny part of Montevideo – having spread across the entire country.” Candombe’s success also brings challenges, Chirimini added: “It’s changing colour: more than half of what is done today is by white people”.
Drummers Diego Paredes, Claudio Martínez, and Darío Terán, musicians from the Rueda de Candombe, pose for a portrait and play their drums at Cubo del Sur in Montevideo. Diego Paredes, 41, another musician with Rueda de Candombe, said this was also evident when negotiating events or shows. He said: “While we inherited spirituality, the swing and the strength from our ancestors, we also inherited poverty. So when an entrepreneur comes along, he is clearly not Black.” Paredes’s connection to the music “comes from the womb”, as his mother, Chabela Ramírez, 68, is one of the country’s leading candombe artists and Afro-feminists. “Uruguay is a very racist country,” Ramírez said during an interview in Palermo, one of the capital’s most traditional Afro-Uruguayan neighbourhoods, but which, amid gentrification, is becoming increasingly white.
Chabela Ramírez is one of Uruguay’s leading candombe artists and Afro-feminists.
“Sometimes I’m afraid that what happened to tango [in Argentina] could happen to candombe,” said Ramírez, noting that the neighbouring country’s emblematic rhythm has “Black roots that no one speaks about”. She argues that candombe cannot only be thought about in terms of entertainment when it has origins in resistance and spirituality. Ramírez said: “The drums take the place of the human voice, because singing was not permitted, nor were enslaved people allowed to speak to one another. Candombe had, and still has, a very important role in communication.”
