Sin Filtro By Ivelisse Del Carmen – A Genre-Bending Masterpiece

Let’s Talk About That Butterfly Kiss

I stared at the cover for a long time. A butterfly landing on a lip – a perfect glimpse of that moment just before a word escapes. That’s Sin Filtro. That’s Ivelisse Del Carmen right there: giving you the truth while it’s still warm, trembling on the edge of sound. I’ve seen plenty of cover art in my time – some clever, some not – but this one meant it. And in that whisper, it dared you to listen. So I did.

It came out bold. A rhythm laced with nerves, memory, and a fist in its pocket. Bilingual by nature, not by design – the lyrics move how her story moves. A self-portrait sketched in broken strings and reggaeton beats.

Ivelisse Del Carmen Sin Filtro: Reggaeton, Reclaimed

If you were in Puerto Rico in the ‘90s, you know what reggaeton meant. Hushed down, pushed out, side-eyed by parents and polite society alike. Reggaeton was all sweat, skin, and street – too loud for polite rooms. It blasted out of borrowed speakers, proud of every bass-heavy second. Today, Ivelisse Del Carmen knows that history first-hand – and in Sin Filtro, she cracks open the vault.

What you hear is hers – built from the rhythm that raised her and the voice she fought to keep. But not the club-ready kind. Her version is bruised and baroque, raw but precisely sculpted. So, welcome into the room where classical approaches meet Caribbean syncopation. Operatic whispers topped with side-eye thumping bass, and some Spanish guitar slides across your own memories.

And when she sings My ego / the spider / afraid to get hurt, I kind of hate how much it makes sense, because I’ve been in that space. Vulnerability that feels like showing up to a dinner party barefoot and bleeding, but still showing up. That’s what Sin Filtro does.

Sin Filtro – The Sound of Real

Let’s be honest – most genre-blending tracks feel like a marketing strategy. But this one feels like an exhale after holding your breath too long. Paul Stanborough, who’s played studio surgeon for everyone from Tina Turner to Robbie Williams, stitches the sounds here.

Nothing about the production gets in the way, it just holds the weight. Ivelisse says she asked for reggaeton beats, but what she got was her own voice turned up loud enough to drown out self-doubt. Stanborough knew where to hold back and where to push – and the track stands because of that – the kind of resistance against being boxed, labelled, corrected – and I like it.

Ivelisse has done this before – An Ocean In Between, Las Mariposas – but this time, she peels back every layer. Sin Filtro is just heart, hurt, and a hard-earned identity pressed into waveform.

Beyond Sin Filtro: An Album Brewing

Sin Filtro by Ivelisse Del Carmen might be one track, but it hums with the weight of an album-in-the-making. Ivelisse is already diving into her next chapter – something bilingual, bicultural, and maybe even bi-temporal. Music made in English and Spanish, pain in one key, and joy in another. She’s building a space where anger dances with healing, where classical training swings hips with island rhythm. I can hear the seeds of it already, even in this one song.

Ivelisse shares the process as it is – the work, the rough edges, the truth. If you haven’t seen her Song Stories or Keeping it Real series yet on her official website, go do that. You’ll realize that every note she sings has fingerprints on it – hers, yours, and maybe even the culture’s. Go find Ivelisse Del Carmen on Facebook, Instagram, Spotify, YouTube. The rest is scattered where all good things hide. See you there!

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