“[The song] is a celebration of their love and the legacy that I’m walking in and the beauty of the musical traditions that they endowed me with,” the 33-year-old says. “I wanted it to be a party song because they’re fun and they’re party animals.”

La Doña’s ethos of paying homage to tradition and history while bringing her own style reverberates throughout the 16 songs on Corrientes, which comes out April 29. This is the second full-length record for the born-and-raised San Franciscan, who started releasing music in 2018.

Corrientes is La Doña’s most ambitious and comprehensive project yet. She incorporates many genres, including some that are tried-and-true for her: cumbia, reggaeton, ranchera, bolero and salsa. She also branches out further into bachata, merengue, electronic dance music and son jarocho, a folk music style that originated in Mexico’s Yucatán peninsula.

Corrientes shows off La Doña’s deep understanding of music while showcasing her brilliance, versatility and expansive range as a singer and songwriter. The album feels like a multinational tour of Latin America with a passionate guide at the helm; while working on the album, she traveled to five countries and collaborated with 40 musicians. Her sultry vocals fit seamlessly, whether she’s singing in English, Spanish or both.

On the cheeky, “Frisco Hates You Too,” collaborators Jada Imani, Stoni and Qing Qi join La Doña for a delicious clap-back banger that takes aim at outsiders who try to force their aesthetics and preferences on Bay Area culture.

“If you were born and raised in San Francisco, you’ve always felt this impending doom, right? If gentrification doesn’t get me, then the earthquake’s going to get me. You always feel like something is going to remove you from your city or your space,” she says. “So ‘Frisco Hates You Too’ is related to a quote that Jimmy Fails says in [the movie] The Last Black Man in San Francisco, which is, ‘You can’t hate it unless you love it.’”

On the bolero, “Consiénteme,” (“Pamper Me”) she sings poetic stanzas in Spanish about passionate love and then switches to English for a spoken word plea for clarity about the relationship: “Dear redacted, did you mean it when you said you wanted to be my baby daddy?”

As an independent artist, La Doña takes risks both in music and activism. Her support of Palestinian people amid the war in Gaza has drawn backlash and cost her opportunities, she says, but silence for her is not an option.

In the song, “Mentira y La Verdad,” (“Lies and Truth”) La Doña sings about how people have tried to pressure her to stop speaking out, but she refuses to back down.

“They come to my concerts. At night, they write to me always criticizing and demanding apologies, but my song today will sound louder tomorrow,” she sings in Spanish.

La Doña has a couple of Northern California performances planned, including a release show on May 15 at Berkeley’s UC Theatre, but has not yet set up a tour. She’s at a crossroads as she decides between different graduate school options for this fall.

La Doña sat down with KQED to talk about her artistry, her aesthetics and what might come next for her future.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

La Doña poses in the inside of her vintage Chevrolet Impala coupe in West Oakland on April 24, 2026. (Gustavo Hernandez/KQED)

Blanca Torres: On this album, you have some salsa, you have some reggaeton, you have some banda and then the son jarocho. Is any of that new that you’re trying out, or is it all stuff that you’ve been working on for a while?

La Doña: I have been playing salsa since I was a very young girl, especially playing the trumpet. I also grew up listening to and playing a lot of corridos, rancheras, so that also feels very natural for me. Especially bolero, mambo, salsa, how these genres of music are moving freely between countries and across borders has informed so much of my writing and so much of my understanding, both of self and of genres and music in general. Was a stretch production-wise just because, yeah, there’s like 20 different styles on this album, right? Just the nature of getting together 40 musicians who all are masters in their craft. It was a huge undertaking.

How do you decide if you want a song in Spanish or in English or both? What’s kind of your creative process since you can access so many styles of music?

Conversationally, I’m more comfortable in English. Musically, I’m more comfortable in Spanish. When I’m writing lyrics or when the song is really led by a story or narrative, I begin composing in Spanish. Whereas if the material is more conversational, then I tend to lean towards English.

Can you talk about taking very traditional styles and bringing in modern elements? Is that something intentional that you’re doing?

Everything that I create, I think about how it’s going to be received and how I’m going be able to present it to people because that’s one of the most special and important parts of music — how it is shared with other people in a live setting.

“Por Un Amor” starts out as a sad story and then it turns at the end. Where did that inspiration come from?

“Por Un Amor” is actually about my breakup with my ex. As a songwriter, as a storyteller, I always get to tell my story, and I always take up space. Also, I love him very much and honor his story and his side of the struggle. I definitely see that. So I wanted to represent that as well.

On “Mentira y La Verdad,” you sing about how people have tried to silence you for sharing political views. Can you talk about that song and this experience that you’ve had the last few years?

I have a very strong moral compass, and that has made it much harder to exist within the music industry because it is such an exploitative and usurping machine. Unfortunately in this system, in this society, we’re going to be engaging with different oppressive systems and we must maintain our own truths and integrity. That’s really the only way to make it out of it alive with our souls intact.

La Doña stands for a portrait against a painted brick wall in West Oakland on April 24, 2026. (Gustavo Hernandez/KQED)

Some people might look at you and say, “You’re living the dream, you’re making music, you’re performing.” Is that how you see your life?

I never wanted to be a musician. I had been playing music since I was so little and my parents always told me, “Get a union job. Get something that will pay the bills. Get a pension. You need to be able to retire and buy a house in the Bay Area.” I had these very pragmatic goals for my life.

When I started making music, all of that changed. I worked really hard, but I didn’t have an end goal of being a professional musician or a lifelong artist. I have maintained it because I do love music and I do love making music and I do love performing, but in terms of, is this my final form? I don’t think so.

You applied to a wide variety of graduate programs and schools for fall of 2026. Have you decided?

No, girl, I’m freaking out. I’m really trying to figure it out. And in short, no, I don’t know where I’m going yet.

You’re clearly rooted in your identity as a Latina, as someone of Mexican descent, as someone from San Francisco. How does your look, your aesthetic relate to your artistry?

I’ve always looked like this. I’ve also acted like this, I’ve always sung like this. I’ve always been this person. Growing up seeing this Frisco-chola aesthetic and knowing that that’s where I feel comfortable, and that’s where I feel safe, and that is where I felt most like myself. But, also having the self-confidence to try new things and to lean into more adventurous styles and by learning how to sew and design at a young age.

I grew up in a household where my mom didn’t really buy me dresses. She didn’t buy me anything pink. I wasn’t allowed to have Barbies. I didn’t have dolls. I didn’t watch Disney. I didn’t watch TV. She wanted me to learn about myself outside of these Eurocentric, sexist and misogynistic views of femininity and what it meant to be a woman. I came to this iteration of myself by a lot of choice-making and a lot of research and a lot of conviction around how I want to look and how I want to present and what feels good for me.

La Doña sits behind the wheel of her vintage Chevrolet Impala coupe in West Oakland on April 24, 2026. (Gustavo Hernandez/KQED)

Research and really understanding the history of music is super important to you, can you talk about that?

I’m already doing deep ethnographic work and auto-ethnographic work. I’m looking for different ways to talk and think about it. For me, this album was definitely about going deeper and not relying on parts of traditional music that have already been utilized or deemed acceptable or palatable by the general public, but looking at things that I am fascinated by, and that I think are important, and that might not really have as much visibility or as much space carved out within the pop canon.

What’s the best way for fans to support you?

I need you to listen to the music and I need to expand your own experience of music, of self, of the world. Listen with an open mind, listen again, listen with a closed mind. I don’t care, just listen. And, come to the show and buy the vinyl.

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La Doña Traveled to 5 Countries to Make Her Borderless Album, ‘Corrientes’

La Doña Wrote Her New Album for Immigrant, Working-Class San Francisco