Junior H Is Taking Corridos Tumbados to Stadiums — and Standing Up for Mexicans: ‘I’m an Immigrant Too’

On a blustery October night in Brooklyn, an unusual crowd gathered outside the opulent Kings Theatre. Bedecked in embroidered black hoodies and sleek suede baseball caps, much of the assembled also wore $ad Boyz streetwear — a brand many of them touted not only on their clothing but permanently, on their skin. Take Omar, an undocumented Peruvian immigrant and construction worker based in the city, whose neck bears a “$ad Boyz” tattoo — and who spoke of the star headlining that night, Junior H, with the reverence often reserved for religious icons or childhood heroes.

He was far from alone. Inside, the ­ornately elegant venue may have seemed like an ­unlikely setting for Junior H’s melancholy corridos tumbados. But as the lights dimmed and the $ad Boy himself took the stage, he transformed the historic space into something entirely his own. The crowd turned electric, belting nearly every agonizingly confessional lyric.

“2023 was a very different year,” Junior H says today, reminiscing about the Brooklyn show as he sits in a Los Angeles studio. “You could say that we began to see the fruits of our labor.” He’s just stepped off a plane from Paris Fashion Week, and though he’s far from the stage he’s still dressed like an emo rock star: snakeskin leather jacket, crisp white shirt, black tie and boots, his shaggy hair neatly shaved on the sides. “We started to get a lot of very important shows at very important venues. From there, you could say, we made it to the big leagues.”

Junior H will headline Billboard’s THE STAGE at SXSW at Moody Amphitheater at Waterloo Park in Austin on March 14. Get your tickets here.

The connection between Junior H and his followers has always transcended the usual artist-fan dynamic, and though his shows are far less frenetic than those of contemporaries Peso Pluma and Fuerza Regida, he’s built up a movement that’s anything but quiet. With his deeply introspective songs, he cuts directly to his listeners’ hearts, offering the kind of vulnerability that’s rare in the typically more brash world of música mexicana.

Over the past seven years, that approach has made the 24-year-old, born Antonio Herrera Pérez in Guanajuato, Mexico, one of the defining voices in the growing subgenre of corridos tumbados. Nine of his songs have landed on the Billboard Hot 100 — an impressive feat for any regional Mexican artist. And while his collaborations with Peso — “Luna,” “Lady Gaga” and “La Durango” — have cracked the chart, he’s also proved he can carry hits on his own, like with “Y Lloro,” which reached No. 79. His 55 career entries on Hot Latin Songs include eight top 10s, and he’s dominant worldwide, with 18 entries on the Billboard Global 200.

The Mexican star has also made waves touring North America, where he sold out two consecutive shows at Los Angeles’ BMO Stadium in 2024. His momentum carried into 2025 with a sold-out North American tour that grossed $42.3 million and sold 357,000 tickets over 27 shows, according to Billboard Boxscore, and expanded into new markets. And last November, he made history as the youngest male artist to sell out back-to-back nights at the Hollywood Bowl.

“Last year’s U.S. tour marked a major milestone for Junior H, with every show selling out and demand reaching new heights across both established and emerging markets,” Live Nation global tour promoter Jorge García says. “His steady progression from theaters to arenas and now stadium shows reflects not only his growth as a live performer but also the deep, sustained relationship with his fans, which is only accelerating.”

Now, Junior H is starting a major new chapter with his Latinoamérica en Lágrimas $ad Boyz Tour LATAM 2026, which kicks off May 12 at Movistar Arena in Bogotá, Colombia, and will hit arenas and stadiums in seven Latin American cities. “For Junior, going to [Latin America] is about translating his growth into identity across borders,” explains Mickey Sanchez, president of Junior H’s label, Rancho Humilde. “Taking his Mexican heritage and $ad Boyz corridos to other countries, [Junior H is] elevating and expanding his $ad Boyz brand to every single country he’s about to step in for the first time.”

That success hasn’t come without controversy. Corridos, a form of Mexican storytelling that dates to the 19th century — and became especially prominent during the Mexican Revolution of 1910 for narrating the struggles and triumphs of the era — have since evolved into a modern voice for social realities and personal histories. And Junior H songs like “El Azul” — a collaboration with Peso Pluma that peaked at No. 55 on the Hot 100 — have become cultural lightning rods in Mexico, where government crackdowns on narcocorridos, or ballads perceived to glorify drug lords or cartel culture, have intensified in recent years.

Last October, when Junior performed “El Azul” during a show at the Palenque Fiestas Octubre in the city of Zapopan, he was reportedly fined 400,000 pesos (more than $23,000). The city’s municipal president, Juan José Frangie Saade, banned him from performing in the city for the remainder of the mayor’s term, which ends September 2027 — and the controversy has affected his ability to play throughout the state of Jalisco, where Zapopan is located.

Sinaloa was among the first states in the 1980s to call for a ban on narcocorridos. Over time, others followed suit, and today, 10 of Mexico’s 32 states — among them Baja California, Guanajuato and Michoacán — have implemented bans or restrictions on the public broadcasting of the subgenre. In the absence of a federal law, local governments impose penalties, ranging from fines to up to one year in prison, on those who perform songs promoting drug-related violence or cartel activity.

“Right now, I have a problem in Mexico,” Junior explains to me. In fact, two days from now, he’s due at a state prosecutor’s office because “I accidentally sang a corrido in Guadalajara, and honestly, it was an accident.

“I have to show my face and answer for singing,” he continues. “Singing is our life; this is how we make a living. It’s really sad for me, honestly. It makes me angry, but what can we do against the law?”

The clash, he argues, stems from Mexico’s recent apología del delito restrictions — laws regulating the glorification or justification of criminal activities — even if he insists his songs don’t glorify violence. “These days we don’t even talk about bloodshed — sometimes we don’t even use swear words!” he exclaims. “We’re just telling a biography or real-life events. That’s the worst part: it’s what’s happening in Mexico. We’re just reporting, like the morning news.”

Still, the clampdown has had a ripple effect on the genre. While some artists have quit or pivoted to other styles, the adversity has fueled Junior’s art. With the February release of his first album in three years, DEPR</3$$ED MFKZ, which he made in collaboration with artist Gael Valenzuela, he’s channeling some of these frustrations into a new era of expression. His latest motto sums it up best: “They banned corridos in Mexico — now everyone wants to be a $ad Boy.”

For Junior H, music wasn’t just a dream — it was an inheritance. His parents exposed him to a wide spectrum of sounds: His mother adored the soaring ballads of Luis Miguel, while his father championed ranchera legends like Vicente Fernández and Pepe Aguilar. “It’s a mix of roots I carry,” Junior says. “We were always surrounded by music.”

Junior grew up in Cerano, a pueblito of just a few thousand people situated near the border between Guanajuato and Michoacán, a “very remote” environment where his family lived until he was 15, when his parents decided to move to the United States in 2016.

The move wasn’t easy. But once his father — who had crossed the border multiple times as an undocumented migrant — secured legal status, it paved the way for Junior and his mother to follow and cross over legally through Ciudad Juárez.

“[My parents] told me, ‘The best thing is for you to stay here and start your life,’ ” he recalls. “At first, it was difficult — imagine leaving your life, your friends and starting from scratch.” On top of all that, “I arrived with nothing, speaking only Spanish,” Junior says. “I had to go to high school and start learning English from zero.”

His parents’ work ethic taught him the value of perseverance during this time. Junior vividly remembers his father struggling tirelessly to support the family as a campesino (agricultural worker), an electrician and more, while his mother, who had worked as a bank clerk in Mexico, cleaned hotel rooms despite her arthritis. “It was a pain in the ass,” Junior says. “My mom would come home with swollen hands. I would say, ‘I can’t screw this up knowing how hard they work.’ ” He worked small jobs to help make ends meet — from mowing lawns to working as a line cook at Wendy’s and a buffet — all while saving for his dream of making music.

At 15, in his new American home in Salt Lake City, he picked up a guitar for the first time — but he couldn’t read sheet music, so he turned to online tutorials. “YouTube, the teacher,” he jokes. “To this day, I don’t know anything about music theory or how to read notes. It was all by ear.” This lack of formal training challenged Junior to trust his intuition and develop his own sound and perspective — shaped deeply by the isolation he felt after leaving behind his life in Mexico.

“When I left and started looking for my career, that’s when I became the real ‘sad boy,’ because I was far away, I had no money, I had no friends — that was the saddest I ever felt,” he admits. But out of that hard time — which was closely followed by the arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020 — came some of Junior’s early hits, and also his $ad Boy aesthetic. The loneliness, disconnection and yearning embedded in his persona struck a chord with fans, many of whom, like Junior himself, were immigrants in the United States who felt the same. “That’s where our whole style was born, even though I had a hard time,” Junior says. “But hey, God rewarded us.”

In the quiet of his own room, “I wrote my lyrics like a diary,” he says of his early songs. “I don’t remember the first song I wrote, but I do know that the first one that worked was called ‘No Eh Cambiado’ [I Haven’t Changed].” That song, which ended up on his 2019 debut album, Mi Vida En Un Cigarro, hinted at the down-to-earth relatability that would soon cement Junior as a superstar — and today it boasts over 91 million streams on Spotify.

As he began recording and releasing music, he developed a style that reflected the regional Mexican influences of the late, great Ariel Camacho’s sierreño sound, but with something more personal at its core. “The term ‘corridos tumbados’ didn’t exist; they were simply corridos,” he says. “I feel like I was doing my thing; people started to see it as something different and, eventually, they took me away from the normal.”

Corridos tumbados, a term coined by Natanael Cano, gained traction in the late 2010s, just as Junior began creating music. While artists like Legado 7 and El de la Guitarra were experimenting with corridos verdes, the weed-centric precursor to tumbados, Junior’s work alongside Cano helped establish corridos tumbados as a distinct subgenre. Through its efforts to champion new stars like Junior and Cano, Rancho Humilde helped to popularize the style; Junior and Cano’s 2019 collaborative album with Don Sanchez — simply titled Corridos Tumbados — was a key moment in the subgenre’s emergence. Inspired by the genre-crossing tastes of Gen Z audiences, corridos tumbados blended rap, trap and even a touch of emo, with Junior’s music delivering the lattermost, in particular, in abundance.

In 2021, Junior released $ad Boyz 4 Life, an album that solidified his introspective approach and strengthened his connection with fans. He followed it with 2022’s Mi Vida En Un Cigarro 2, which leaned more into corridos verdes, and 2023’s $ad Boyz 4 Life II. But after he released eight albums between 2019 and 2023, fans had to wait three years for his collaborative album with Gael Valenzuela, DEPR</3$$ED MFKZ, which further builds on the $ad Boy aesthetic. Junior kept busy during his hiatus, formalizing his own $ad Boyz Records in 2024 and introducing his first signing, Valenzuela; the label operates alongside Rancho Humilde, with Junior remaining under contract and continuing to release albums for the latter.

DEPR</3$$ED MFKZ’s opening trio — “No Tengas Miedo,” “En Donde Estás” and “Errores” — chart the emotional arc of a turbulent relationship, beginning with hope, transitioning to uncertainty and ending with regret and heartbreak. “This album is dedicated more than anything to my first artist. Gael brought his own songs and I brought mine,” he says. “Everything came naturally.”

“He’s always followed his own path without trying to fit into any mold,” says Valenzuela, who contributed as a songwriter on $ad Boyz 4 Life II. “As both an artist and a friend, he’s helped me avoid stumbling where he’s already stumbled, and that’s what I admire most about him — his character and how generously he extended a hand to me.”

The Mexicali musician brought a fresh lyrical perspective that complemented Junior’s introspective style and deepened the album’s melancholic themes, while his assertive vocal delivery helped shape its emotional depth and identity. A Peso Pluma collaboration, “Droga Letal,” added star power.

“The name of the album is a tribute to the [$ad Boyz] movement, to what we started with the fans,” Junior says. Those fans helped it to debut at No. 1 on Billboard’s Top Regional Mexican Albums and No. 3 on Top Latin Albums, further solidifying him as a cultural force.

Hours after our interview, Junior held a private party for friends, collaborators and industry insiders in the South Park district of Downtown L.A. for the launch of ­DEPR</3$$ED MFKZ. Inside, the vibe was shadowy and dramatic, with an actual coffin stationed just outside the elevators at the entrance. Attendees dressed in mandatory black mingled amid gothic décor: winged statues stripped of arms and heads, dim lighting and Renaissance-meets-modern-emo art.

The goth-chic soirée showcased the all-encompassing world that Junior has built melding style and community. $ad Boyz Clothing began as simple merchandising, and in less than a decade has become one of the most recognized streetwear brands in Latin music, now boasting collaborations with New Era and Anti-Social Social Club; last year, it was joined by $ad Girlz Clothing. (“To this day, I can tell you that I have more female fans than male fans,” Junior says.)

“We’re a brand that embraces both fashion and identity,” says Chucho Rivera, creative director of $ad Boyz Clothing. “What we create carries the spirit of the music, but we also want to challenge, evolve and put Latinos into global fashion conversations. And while our designs aren’t always intended for social causes, we use our platform to amplify [humanitarian] efforts.”

One of its most meaningful initiatives thus far: a collaboration with the nonprofit Coalition for Humane Immigrant Rights (CHIRLA) in which proceeds from an exclusive New Era $ad Boyz cap released in 2025 funded legal aid and advocacy programs for families affected by the detainment practices of Immigration and Customs Enforcement under President Donald Trump. “We are living in difficult times,” says Junior, who calls the drop one of his proudest moments. “We cannot remain silent. This was our way of raising our voices and giving back the support that our people have always given me … and [beyond the merch collaboration] we’ve even donated a big part of what we’ve earned.

“It was something we did straight from the heart,” he continues. “It hurts us a lot to see how things are right now. I come from an immigrant family. I’m an immigrant myself.” He’s referring specifically to Trump’s devastating immigration crackdown of the past year, marked by a rise in noncriminal arrests, targeting individuals without prior offenses and deaths in detention centers.

“Thank God I was given the chance to fix my papers [gain legal status stateside], and that’s the reason I’m here today,” he says. “But so many families are in a really tough situation. It’s so painful for all of us who are Mexican, who are Latino. It’s really sad. Nothing like this has ever happened before, at least not in my lifetime — it’s the least we can do to feel a little bit of peace, even if just for a moment.”

He knows that his own journey, from a small town in Mexico to sold-out stadiums, wouldn’t have happened without the power of resilience and staying true “100%” to his roots. “I just want to pick up my guitar and keep working,” he says. “My main objective and what I want to convey [in my music] is love.”

This story appears in the March 7, 2026, issue of Billboard.