Ricky Martin

On parenting, protests, and the future of the Latin pop revolution.

Ricky Martin had been an international star for years before “Livin’ La Vida Loca” topped the U.S. charts — and he’s hardly seen a dull moment in the two decades since. In 2010, the Puerto Rican singer came out to his fans as a gay man; nearly 10 years later, he received his first Emmy nomination, for his role in The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story. This spring, Martin — now a father of four with his husband, Syrian-born artist Jwan Yosef — released a new EP, Pausa, featuring collaborations with Sting and Bad Bunny. It’s a busy life, but he’s taken it all in stride, at least until Covid-19 hit. “Before this pandemic, I had no issues,” Martin, 48, says with a laugh. “I’m a delegator, I have a great team. But when this pandemic hit us . . . I started going crazy!”

You live in a beautiful house in Beverly Hills. Does that make quarantine any easier?

I have a very loud house, in the sense that I have kids. We’re under a strict quarantine because my mom is here. It’s very severe — I think that’s the only way we can stop this from doing more harm. But I am very lucky. I am in a comfortable home where my kids can play. Whenever your head goes the wrong way, you just look at your kids, your husband, your mother, and you [think], “We’ve got to shape up.”

Your new EP is in line with the progress that artists like J Balvin and

Bad Bunny are making in Latin pop music by collaborating with Afrobeats and flamenco acts. Do you see them as peers?

I’m so proud of them! When I started working with music, it was mainly romantic ballads. I allowed myself to go into a very Latin-African sound on [1995’s] “Maria.” I remember that the president of a record company told me, “Oh, my God, Ricky, this is the end of your career.”

Six months later, it was the Number One song [in France]. Critics and journalists from different parts of the world would say, “No, really, where are you guys from?” We’d say, “Puerto Rico.” I’d have to explain the influence of Africa with the rhythms that were brought from that continent.

In our Bad Bunny cover story this year, you described him as a Latin queer icon, which some readers took issue with. What makes someone a queer icon?

Allies are so important. Without them, our fight for equality is impossible. It really tickles me to see Bad Bunny as a gay icon — just like Cher could be. Why not?

What was it like for you to remain closeted during the Nineties and early aughts — the most public, exposed period of your life?

I had moments of extreme positivity, and not-so-positive moments. Life was a bit on steroids in those days. Everything was really intense. But I could take it! I come from a school of military discipline when it comes to training for music, dance, and acting. It was about not being ready to open. Listen, when you open an egg from the outside, what comes out is death. But when the egg opens from the inside, what comes out is life. It’s something that needs to come from within.

Last summer, you joined in protests against Puerto Rico’s now-former governor Ricardo Rosselló. Had you ever taken to the streets like that before?

I didn’t know the power of people together in peace [before]. We were in the streets playing music, chanting, dancing — getting rid of our anger and our uncertainty through music. It was very special. In peace, we brought our government down. In Puerto Rico, we have been going through quite a moment these past couple of years, but we’re hanging tough and helping each other. That instinct to save humanity came out. That’s Puerto Rico.

In the Nineties, American reporters would sometimes be surprised to learn that you listened to classic rock in Puerto Rico. Was that frustrating?

I had a lot of fun. The way I see it is that they were opening a door for me to let them know that not everybody from the southern tip of the continent in Argentina all the way to the border here in the United States listens to regional Mexican [music]. There are hundreds of different rhythms and dances. It’s ancestral.

You’ve been acting since you were a kid, but you got your first Emmy recognition, for playing Gianni Versace’s grieving partner, in 2018. Do you want to do more TV and film work?

Yes, I’d love to. It’s time to discover myself in this — even though I started doing this when I was 10 years old. I want to do so much, not only in front of the camera, but behind the camera.

There’s no blueprint for being a pop-star parent, or for being a gay parent. How do you balance parenting with your career?

People tell me, “Oh, my God, you bring your kids everywhere with you. Don’t they need stability?” And I’m like, “Yes, of course.” They were born on the road. I am their stability. When I’m not around, that’s when they feel unstable. What they are used to is waking up after the concert, we hop in the bus, we wake up in the next city. As long as you have a routine, they are appreciative. And as long as I’m around.